Without the pain of death of take away, what would life be to us? A plant's roots go deeper as it grows, keeping it in one place for the rest of it's life. A boundary that cannot be crossed. That is, unless the roots are undug. If the plant is torn up, they move or they die. And life goes on until we've all had enough, and we wilt and lose to our despair. We can be as strong as oak or as sharp as thorns, but there's always someone out there who can kill you. You might be run over. You might be murdered. Some are so fragile, grown up or small, and easily crushed by straying feet. Some are massive and tower above the rest, proud and respectable. What about that dandelion you crushed under your foot a week ago? Did you stop to sympathize it? But of course not. Because it's only one dandelion among many, identical in every way. And no one truly cares if you die. But if you are big tree and you die, people will worry. Because there'll always be bigger trees waiting behind you. A cycle of life, so simple and short lived. And as a tree grows older but fails to grow taller, there'll always be another tree that is just an inch above it, outshining it by just that much. Because trees are that much harder to squash, and it's so much easier to cut them down instead. To make them nothing more than a stump. And every moment, an unimportant tree will fall and an innocent flower will be flattened under sheer weight. But at the same time, seeds will grow into saplings and saplings will grow up to produce more saplings and eventually die without unlocking what they could be. And even smaller yet, the strand of grass that multiply so rapidly and get cut so quickly, put down so easily by the likes of us. Life and death. Freedom and imprisonment. Without one, there is no other. Because life never really does change. You can sit around waiting for something to come along and crush you.
Or you can make yourself into one of those big trees.
Or you can make yourself into one of those big trees.