He liked red tulips,  I preferred the charm of pink roses.

Though a roses adoration seemed to last longer, than the claim of  "never-ending love" of a tulip.

The red began to fade, leaves and petals began to shrivel
    wither,
          and curl in on themselves.

Whilst the rose drank in every mornings dew, bursting with thorn and a heavy fragrance that filled the summer air with a sense of longing.

I wonder if you noticed.

That I am not talking about flowers..


I am talking about us.