This time, her apology came  
in the form of white roses  
on a quiet, Sunday night.
No complex words needed,
just a simple "I'm sorry"
and a meaningful gesture;
received by my timid hands
and pressed lips.

And it was enough for me,
because I realized that
all the thorns are embedded
but they can be cut off,
not only in roses but
in one's hearts too.
I look at you and through you.
You're genuine and I'd like to keep you.

the moon sleeps within your eyes,
crafted from stardust,
trillions of years old,
glimmering as i gaze into them.
you and i seemed like
we were born from the same star.

your lips are like soft petals
of zinnias, lilacs, daisies and asters,
electrifying before they even touched mine,
a fragile beauty rooted within your smile,
reflecting your beautiful soul,
bursting with colors, the world has yet to see.

i was told not to touch such kind of masterpiece
for i could possibly break thee,
and such masterpiece can also break me.

but i still cling to pockets of hope
that even as the world turns dark,
you'll hold me until our atoms join the stars
and love me until the very earth
stops spinning around the sun,
and perhaps until i see that you were made for me.