Taeha stood quietly in the garden, where the flowers no longer bloomed the way they once did. Their petals were thin, curled at the edges, and faded by time. Yet even in their withered state, they carried stories—memories of sunlight, rain, and gentler days.Taeha knelt down, brushing the soil from their hands. The garden was silent, except for the soft sound of breathing and the weight of unspoken thoughts. It wasn’t sadness alone that brought tears to Taeha’s eyes—it was remembering.Tears That Speak Without WordsWhen Taeha’s tears fell, they landed softly on the withered flowers. No dramatic moment. No sudden change. Just quiet drops soaking into dry earth. Sometimes healing doesn’t arrive as a miracle—it arrives slowly, unnoticed, like rain after drought.Those tears weren’t weakness. They were honesty.Each tear carried something unexpressed:Regret for what couldn’t be savedGratitude for what once bloomedHope that something might grow againWithered Flowers Still MatterPeople often forget that withered flowers are not useless. They’ve lived. They’ve bloomed. They’ve endured storms and heat and neglect. Just like people.Taeha understood this.Even flowers that no longer stand tall still nourish the soil. They become part of what comes next. Nothing is wasted—not even pain.Make It Easy on YourselfTaeha whispered softly, almost as advice to the wind:“Make it easy.”Not everything needs fixing right away.Not every loss needs meaning immediately.Not every tear needs an explanation.Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is allow yourself to feel—without pressure, without guilt.The Quiet Promise of RenewalAs the sun dipped lower, the garden didn’t change. The flowers remained withered. But something invisible shifted.The soil was softer.The air felt lighter.And Taeha felt just a little less heavy.Because even withered flowers, touched by tears, can be the beginning of something new.
