Mourn the early bud,
teased by the fickle weather
and killed on a whim.

Inspired by the camillia flowers which always fall for the first few falsely warm days of spring. ..

Do peach petal tears stream down her heart?
Drinking sweet nectar from her lips,
My eyes fall upon gold coated truths
Forever pouring from her throat.

Where I thought
My soul was bare
You cultivated a garden
And hope grew there
Now I am flourishing
With the fruits of your labor
I don’t know how it happened
But you've brought me here

leaning against her bench,
purple petals blossomed
and the sun shined brightly
and the grass was cut nicely

well cut bushes carried
these lovely blossoms
just so swimmingly
and the petals flew so freely

she read for a few hours
listening to the moving wind,
now the sun lowered gently
and she finished and signed sweetly

We were like two phrases lost in translation. We made perfect sense in a language that I spoke and not at all in the language you knew.
We were like two stars that almost seemed to be touching, but were light years away. You wouldn’t know if I collapsed before it was too late.
We were like two dominoes, stacked against each other. If you fell, I’d fall with you.
We were like an eclipse. When we were together, I saw you and they saw you, but no one could see me.
We were like champagne, perfect for fancy occasions only.
We were like two halves of a broken heart. We could complete each other but we didn’t really fit.
We were like two coins, that made a lot of noise together but had lesser value apart.
We were like two nights, one darker than the other. But both still, silent, and calm.
We were like magic. I thought we were real, but you called it an illusion.
We were like two flowers blooming to be beautiful alone, but we had a stronger fragrance together.
We were beautiful. But I guess only I see it this way. Because we were like two pairs of eyes always seeing things differently.

As I sit and watch the wildflowers
I think how humans have no roots
Nothing to hold us back, but nothing to save us
From life's trampling boots

As I sit and watch the wildflowers
I wonder why they are weeds
Their only crime in life
Is to spread their lovely seeds

As I sit and watch the wildflowers
I think of all their trouble
We think of ways to kill them
All that should be left is ruin and rubble

Idk if I've posted this before but I just found it in an old notebook so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Love is like a flower
It can be so delicate
And when you are seduced    
with its beauty and delicacy
You will want to pluck it.
But plucking, in essence,
Kills the flower
Love is different.
Love is leaving it be;
Letting it flourish
and growing with the flower.
Love is watering the flower
when it needs it.
Love is letting the flower
Live among its kind
if it desires it.
Love is appreciating,
Love is beautiful
but when one tries to control
or mold someone into an idea,
this is when love dies

I've taken small moments
and built a hill;
precious moments,
with our growing love
for each other,
and watched
as deep grass grew
and the hill blossomed
with the brilliant yellows
of sunflowers,
and deep blues
of bluebonnets;
trees grew tall
with bright green leaves
on strong branches,
filled with nests
for sparrows
that never ceased
their song.
This hill
was a sancuary
for me to be taken
every time
I looked in your eyes.

Now I sit
and look back,
long years after,
still unable to understand
why you set fire
to our hill.

You kissed me
in the pouring rain
with nothing but jasmine
as our roof.

Thoughts and predictions

every inch of
my mind blooms
like roses and daisies
in the spring when
i think of you

whenever I think of him
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