You set me in the sun to grow,
fed my roots with tender rain.
But when your hands reached for me,
I broke—dry petals slipping through your fingers.
I now grieve the flower I almost was,
longing to bloom as you once imagined.
But now your care drifts elsewhere,
and I remain beneath this burning sky,
waiting for my final petal to fall.
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 7:38 PM UTC
You set me in the sun to grow,
fed my roots with tender rain.
But when your hands reached for me,
I broke—dry petals slipping through your fingers.
I now grieve the flower I almost was,
longing to bloom as you once imagined.
But now your care drifts elsewhere,
and I remain beneath this burning sky,
waiting for my final petal to fall.
