he gave her flowers
it's the 14th of the year's
second month
at the top of the blossomed fragrance
is a note that confessed
"be mine..."
she felt something
but it is nothing as it should—
as how he had hoped it would
"be mine... again, please"
he whispered
her eyes shown colors
of miss
and of hope
"i own mine,
i already own mine"
he tried to connect
the now and the past
he gave him a song
a letter, a photo
he gave him his word,
"one last time"
she looked down
thinking, feeling
as if below lies a mirror
that reflects memories from time,
time she thought—
and hoped would last
"one last time, i gave to mine"
she appeased
he left pleading
with a heart full of crease
but she found herself in peace
a complete piece
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 3:53 AM UTC
he gave her flowers
it's the 14th of the year's
second month
at the top of the blossomed fragrance
is a note that confessed
"be mine..."
she felt something
but it is nothing as it should—
as how he had hoped it would
"be mine... again, please"
he whispered
her eyes shown colors
of miss
and of hope
"i own mine,
i already own mine"
he tried to connect
the now and the past
he gave him a song
a letter, a photo
he gave him his word,
"one last time"
she looked down
thinking, feeling
as if below lies a mirror
that reflects memories from time,
time she thought—
and hoped would last
"one last time, i gave to mine"
she appeased
he left pleading
with a heart full of crease
but she found herself in peace
a complete piece