feeling like an endless and gruesome winter,

you eventually left me;

leaving a gaping hole of nothingness
in what i used to call my heart.

i remember you telling me
that i was like a flower;

you pulled me from my roots and placed me in a vase of water,

keeping me safe and alive.

but flowers eventually die

when the careless and unthoughtful rip them from their thoughts.

because there are other things to worry about;

because there are many more flowers to be picked.