roses were not my thing
and somehow he already knew
from the very beginning,
because one September morning
as the sun arrived to greet me
“good morning”
so did he,
with an abundance of handpicked daisies
and a breathtaking “hello”
with that smile, seemingly genuine,
so believably true, like the daisies.

but he left the next month,
leaving me with a vase of shriveling sadness.

roses were not my thing
but somehow you never really knew
because one February morning
the morning sky blazing with a vibrant tangerine hue,
you arrived at my doorstep
with a bouquet of tired-looking roses
and i recall wondering why
so you insisted that they were
beautiful, like me.
but to me, they weren’t beautiful at all
just a cliché mess of mediocrity,
the furthest away from beautiful
and so was I.

but you never left my side,
and with time they grew out of their vase
                    and into my heart.