Simplicities

0.3 pressed flowers

there are flowers

pressed between every page

of that book over there.

each of its pages

filled with memories.

the light caressings

of your fingertips

over its aged, arched spine,

and each of its weathered,

inky pages.

and in hopes that I'd never

forget your smile,

and the faded melodies

of your tired, tranquil voice.

I pressed these flowers

within these pages.

roses from a field of love.

daffodils,

a gift from you,

in hopes that I'd move on.

what do these pages

of pressed flowers

say to me?

perhaps it's that you never left,

but will always be here,

with me?