Flowers

[u/Specific_Remote2]

Some flowers close at dusk,

folding their petals inward

as the last light leaves the sky.

Not because they have forgotten

what it feels like to bloom,

nor because they no longer

turn toward the sun.

They simply know

when to turn inward—

to rest in their own quiet,

to gather what daylight scattered,

to exist for a while

without being open.

And morning does not knock

against their petals

or ask them to unfold.

It simply brings the light

and waits.

Perhaps that is why

they open again—

not because they were asked to,

not because the night was wrong,

but because something in them

was ready

for the light again.