flowers
You clutch flowers intricately and painstakingly crafted with your own fingers. Each stem and bloom is a thoughtful creation of your affection, sweet and lovely. A bite melts on my tongue when I slowly pick away the makeshift petals.
You love me, you love me not. The words go unspoken and the truth stays known to me. I remember the person I was in you; I see the girl I was when I wanted to know every secret of his. A question left as a note. A love letter left unsent. I remember falling out of love with a man who cut my affection into triangles. I remember the sharp colors of my photographs fading away to the hum of his black and white films.
I see you love me the way I loved him.
I whisper a promise I will be gentle, in ways he could not be. But I tremble little by little behind the smile you love. My words have already shaken you. Even if I mean it not, I will let you down.
Still, I find my eyes wander to the flowers you've left for me. How can I let your heart down gently?
Had he felt the same way when he saw me walking away, heart cracked in ways he would never understand?
