Memories of a Love Gone Wrong

The rose is wilting

and the water has dried up

like my throat the day

I told you I didn’t love you

anymore.

I tried to remember the time

when the rose was still

blooming with color--

bursting red:

You were flashing

that famous smile of yours

when I opened the door.

You held the rose

with such pride

like it was your kid

showing off her talent.

I let you in

(maybe too quickly).

You talked and I laughed

and you smiled.

Your eyes were bright

and happy

and well...so was I.

But quickly,

(always too quickly),

the rose was wilting

and I felt you fading away.

Just as fast as a rose can die,

your feelings (I can feel it)

were dying too.

So I watched for awhile

until it was too much to bear.

“I don’t love you anymore.”

I lied. You sighed. Relief, maybe?

You left quickly

(maybe too quickly).

So I guess the only thing left

is to throw the rose away

because memories of you

appear like a mirage

and it haunts me like a ghost.

After all, the only things that last

are those made of plastic

and memories of a love gone wrong.