My petals have again turned pink,
tipped with a blush of red
isn’t that wonderful?!

the morning autumn sun slowing warming them
the dew that comes with dawn moistening them.

And isn’t that wonderful?!
to see ‘the girl who was killed by love’ blush again?
to see her grow soft when he arrives at the party?
but she isn’t your toy, your example, your experiment..
she isn’t what you break and send away to be repaired.

No,
don’t thank yourself for letting me go
Don’t use my petals as an excuse to throw away the harness of blame,
of guilt.

Petals can open,
and pinken,
and bloom.
But do you ever look inside?
Do you ever see from the top
down?
What if you did?

Inside,
you would find a girl
Crying..
Broken,
by the memory of love.

By the lesson you taught her
‘Love never stays’.