Does he love me ?
Does he love me not ?
Do I even like him ?
The twin torment of love.
It is not love or is it?
The petals from the flower fall to the ground while my dreams change.
Dreams of togetherness of rounded love.
Dreams of growing old, dinners around round tables,
and laughter that aged like cut roses.
Memories that I must forget,
dreams that must wither away.
Love that seemed to be as timeless as plastic petals.
Other love will not compare,
Growing short of what once was there.
I stare at the bouquet's darkened petals falling.