It was then on those fleeting moments I had with you that I realized that my love for you have always resembled the flowers growing quietly in the afternoons of October. I let them sprout out of my body, their little stigmas poking out of my ribcage, their stalks digging deeper to my flesh, and their petals slowly running in my whole system. I inhaled the lovely fragrant of my love for you, letting it run through my bloodstream, and almost feeling you behind my eyes. This love of mine is a flower I've worked so hard to maintain the life it has, pouring all my tears and sadness to help it fight the pain I felt inside of me, a little fresh from my vivid memories, a little too wounded to be cured of all the stings it felt from all those years. My feelings for you are so delicate, they can break out and it'll wash over me, drowning me in my own miseries. Yes, it was on those fleeting moments I had with you that I realized I was too in love to let the flower be pulled out from the soils of my body and to kill it while it wasn't sprouting alive. I was too in love to realize that you could never be in love with me. My love, a flower growing from all those afternoons of October and being the wild ones of November, slowly felt the petals being tear down and falling unnoticed down the ground. You love me not.
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A/N: I love flowers.
YOU ARE READING
Roofs
Poetry"Forgetting is a lot like leaving someone or somewhere you recognized as home." (Copyright © Flores, Catherine 2015)
