You are a flower and I am but rubble.
You grew through me, though I was not worthy.
Your beauty has depth. It is real and lasting.
Mine is a facade, for I am a broken mess of what I once was.
May you never gaze downward at this pile of jagged, grey rock.
May you only look upward and soar upward to the sun.
The rubble that birthed you is not your home.
You belong somewhere light and bright.
I was once a sturdy foundation.
Now I serve no purpose except to protect and house you for a time.
I crumbled long before you sprouted.
I do not deserve such a happy little flower.