Conversations.

I wonder what the greenery stretched across our beloved earth speaks of, in languages we cannot comprehend. We see the flowers lithely blooming in and leaves sprouting in emeralds and brightness in spring, watch them create this subtle force of beauty that inspires its observers. Yet, we are oblivious. We cannot see everything.

I imagine the dainty flowers unfolding their petals in the morning, conversing with the light and the beams surrounding it. Perhaps they talk to the sun, wishing it could come closer, to infuse its warmth more dearly. Perhaps those petals yearn for the light’s gentle tangible touch, to spark its colours and vibrancy. But do they know if the sun came a little bit closer, they’d shrivel and burn? Do they know that longing to grow taller and taller just to reach the sun’s sky would weaken them?

I imagine the trees at night conversing in melancholy. Perhaps they do not like the darkness yet have to go through it every single day. For them, the summer nights are short and blissful, but the winter always comes snd bombards their strength. What if they spend the night longing for the break of dawn? What if only they felt alive as the light brought their greenness to shine? They could be tired of suffering, waiting and yearning. They could be.

I imagine the fresh, fragrant barks spiteful of the leaves’ lush glow and the branches so eagerly extending in all directions, exploring. Perhaps the tree trunks are tired of having to ground their families. They are tired of being so dependant upon and wish to finally break free from this tiresome endless responsibility.

Perhaps those are some of the conversations we never hear. We only see what our eyes could dictate, but underneath it all, a world is taking shape— a world in which all seasons of emotions may exist, and we may never know.

Perhaps the greenery looks at us the same way. They see our faces and wonder how we can still be ourselves— how can we not complain and lapse into episodes of helplessness and dimmed hopes?

Then we need to know that our judgements are conjectures, sometimes. Our observations are merely perceptions but never reality. Yet, we need to keep visualising those obscured conversations, to empathise with what we do not see— what is not always so evident.

It is only through vulnerability that we could be ourselves and portray the qualities we behold. Perhaps it is even beautiful to be vulnerable, it awakens the world through rainbows of earthly human truths, there is nothing more revealing.