1 the red tulips and the wilted tulips

I lay in a flower field as the delicate vermillion red tulips grazed against my cheek. I felt the breezy wind push by me. I was drowned varicolored flowers abloom, but my eyes only focus on the wilted tulip in the center of the field. It laid downcast and unwanted, living in solitude. It's luckless petal fell to the ground and ever so softly cracked and cried. In a field of flowers, a vast of elegant aromatic tulips, this very scrawny one would never be looked at. It would not be touch, not given attention. A flower that bees and butterflies would like. A tulip that will not leave trace of its existence behind. A barely red tulip, withered dead and ephemeral. For is this what undying love is? does it all not matter? will our hearts be as scarlet as dead tulips once we eld and omit?