Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.
-Robert Frost
    
I stay here in the cold, hard ground, waiting to be swept up by the wind and carried away forever. But my wish has not come true, for I am still here, just waiting. Wanting so badly to leave this harsh cold, and be one with the earth. My pedals no longer the vibrant red tint they used to be, but a dull, light pink. My leaves are browning and my stem is weakening, but I am, for some reason, still here.
I don’t spend my time being productive anymore. I have nothing left to do. I have accomplished everything I need to and am ready to go. I am all alone now with no one to stand strong by my side, nothing to hold me here. 
The way I see it, we all have a purpose. For some reason we all have been put here to do something, to start something, to finish something, to be apart of something. No matter how big or small, all of us need to be here. After I am gone, I am not really gone. My body will decompose and linger here forever? Maybe other flowers will grow from my seeds?  Maybe that is my purpose, to create others like me? Then they will have a purpose.
It could be the same as mine, whatever that is. I could be here to provide for others, a nurturer if you will. My pollen feeds the bees and the bees feed humans, so I am helping full civilizations to not grow hungry. Maybe my purpose of being here is to leave? Maybe I don't really have a purpose? There are so many others like me. Do they have a purpose? Am I the only one who thinks of such things? For all I know I was just an accident, a mishap. I try not to think about that too much.
Maybe my purpose is to be myself? A beautiful flower, I mean, bright and healthy, durable and aesthetic . When I am seen I am admired for my beauty, but nothing gold can stay. Over time I've lost my beauty, not because the beauty's lost it's purpose but because I've lost mine.
The wind is picking up. I feel my last few pedals loosen and fly away, taking all of my beauty with it. My purpose. My outer layer. Without my veil of pedals, I am just a stem, vulnerable and fragile. With nothing to hide behind I have no protection. No one will look at and admire me like I have always wanted.
I always thought leaving would be so effortless, carefree. Having the will to stay is hard, but finding the want to leave is even harder.
Finally, my roots start to loosen from the tough soil and I'm breaking free.  Breaking free from everything; the harsh reality of who I have become, to the way sometimes everything feels like it's closing in, suffocating you, like something besides yourself wishes you were gone, an outside force.
I have fallen now, out of the place that has been my home for months. I am extremely weak, having had no warmth for weeks and little hydration along with it. I decide to let wind take its course, choosing where I want to go.
I feel weightless, with no burdens as I float through the strong air, far away from where I was before. I wonder when I will stop? Stop feeling. Stop wondering. Stop wanting.
As I ponder that, my mind starts to go blank and I start another journey, somewhere far away from here.