it had been resigned to me from the start.

the seeds i wove through his fingers when we were young began to grow roots through the skin,
they sprouted in july,
and they bloomed in mid autumn.

they were white around the edges, and faded yellow like crystal sunshine,
every petal delicate and divine as the last.

i reached to touch one of these once tender flowers,
and i was pricked by an unforgiving thorn.

such rage of a man so beautiful had turned a forgiving stem into a weapon before my eyes.

yet still,
i picked every flower as it grew.