My heart pounds like a drum as the door locks.
“My darling,” you say, “lets have a talk.”
I must not write what was said and done on this innocent paper.
Either way, God knows it will be known later.
You called me up in the morning at three.
I thought to myself, this guy must love me.
You joked, jested, and japed about people.
But when it came to me, I was treated like a delicate sepal.
A forgotten flower fluttering away was all I was to you.
For when spring and sweet summer ended and our distance grew,
You called me once, twice, and even thrice,
But your third call marked our demise.
I didn’t call you back for I was scared;
Scared of what I would have to alone bare.
Months later I received your note;
We waited and waited but you were a no show.
I was full of despair wondering how I would be freed,
Freed from this brutal burden that I couldn’t even believe
I was young, young like Marie Antoinette,
But the difference is that Louis took her as if she were his beautiful baguette.
You see my darling, lets not let our sweet bitter lives fritter.
We must realize that by fall the flower will wither.
The seed will be left behind and leave a track.
Hoping that one day the bee will come back.