The flower you gave me still sits on my bedside table
It lays in grim finality,
grasping for your sunlight but knowing that warmth
Is gone.
Its once vibrant lavender hues fade with each day
Without you.
Muted and silent like my heart,
Leaves fall off its body in tandem with my tears.
I stare at its deflating mouth,
Remembering its church-bell roundness
and the sad smile I gave you when you first handed it over to me.
Shouldn’t I be giving you the flowers? I tried to joke.
Harsh pain contrasted so beautifully with its delicate petals.
Now, its soul has begun to resemble mine;
Life draining away from its once innocent body,
turning over in a bed of wrinkles and cracks.
We both miss your loving touch.
I wake up to its sugary smell,
grasping for that dissolving scent of sweetness
Somedays, I swear it smells like you.
I gently caress its smooth skin,
Knowing that soon it will wither away,
Dying just like you did and
Taking the last bit of your life with it.
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