He’s just a nobody. A nobody that not a single soul would be able to recognize in a crowd of people or field of flowers. His heart is just a molten and melted pile of nothing entangled in vines of soullessness. Not even the vines’ leaves care about him. They just shrivel up like someone forgot to water them, just like the forgetfulness to care for him. No one watered his dying roots. The roots that stored up anger. Fury. The ground resented the emotions of the roots, so even the ground let him down. Everyone rejected him. Others looked at his petals in disgust and mockery. So he let his petals fall. He was a nobody, with no petals, no roots, no leaves. His fury built up towards the other flowers around him until it couldn’t build any longer. That was the end of his crisis. He was gone. The nobody was truly a nobody, he was dead. What he didn’t know or didn’t realize is that he refused to plant his roots in the ground and ignored others requests to water him. He was recognized for his unique petals not mocked. The leaves longed to save his heart but without the water it kept twisting around. There’s no saving him now, but if only he knew that he was never just a nobody after all.