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Wilting Flower
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Some times, I look back at what we had,
What somehow blossomed in the summer of July.
A delicate flower thriving in rich color,
Its beauty envied by all.
Yet it wilted before it fully blossomed.
Left alone in the cold,
Where it had started to die,
Never reliving its very own season.
But it was no one's fault.
Maybe it could bloom again,
With a little of your stories,
Or a few of my chuckles,
But this isn't what we want anymore.
So we carry on with our own lives,
Never speaking of what was lost.
Leaving the flower to wither,
Along with our feelings for each other.
≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪
Date written:
11/09/20 ; 01/23/21
YOU ARE READING
Yours Truly
PoetryUnsaid words. These are just words that are waiting to be said, or words that lost its meaning over time.
