I have told most men that have previously been in my life that I do not like being gifted flowers. There’s something immorally morbid about tearing a living being so beautiful out of its roots. Destroying an embodiment of itself, what it needs to survive, and using it for pleasure. I know what it’s like. To be stripped from life and used as mere entertainment. To have another intertwine with the inner beauty that makes me. The days have gone by and each time, I have died. Only to be reborn with the seeds left among the debris. Welcoming another tomorrow, putting an end to past sorrows.
What is companionship if that mind is not nourished? What is companionship if it means losing what you embody? Find someone who is a reflection of your ideals. But respects and values your diverse truths. Someone who balances their cosmic energy with yours. And vise versa.