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Anna Dulaney Jan 2016
It’s a game of pulling petals off flowers
Murmuring “she loves me, she loves me not”,
As each frosted pink petal falls
And I think back
To the hugs
The presents
The tears and
The goodbyes
“She loves me,” I whisper as you hug me longest and last
“She loves me not” I choke out as you don’t bother responding
Each petal falls
One by one
Words falling from my mouth like droplets off a leaf
Few petals remain
Three, then two,
Then one.
She loves me…
Not.

— The End —