falling petals

He hands me a beautiful assortment of all my favourite flowers,

held tightly together with a thin white string.

lilies, roses, daisies, 

I wrapped both my hands around it as I held my breath,

worried a slight whisper 

would blow the delicate petals away.


Sharp thorns prickled my skin as I clenched the stems,

blood slowly trickling down my palms,

the pain stumped by the euphoria that pulses through my veins.


The bright array of colours radiates before me, 

the fresh fragrances tickling my nose,

I swear I can feel it 

stirring every cell 

down to my toes.

Does he love me?

Does he love me not?

---

But the sky becomes dark,

the air becomes thicker as it rests heavy in my lungs.

The bouquet slips from my fingers,

suspended in the air for what feels like an eternity 

before it hits the cold concrete floor.

The dead petals turn to dust, 

swirling around in the crisp, cruel wind.


What once was soft, bright, and beautiful

has become dry, broken, and muted.

I turn around 

but you’re no longer there.

Your shadow etched into the sidewalk,

a haunting trace of your existence.