A rose sits dying in the window.
It is wilted and forgotten.
The soft, velvet petals begin to dry and crack.
They fall gently onto the cold, hard floor.
A once beautiful red rose,
that once stood for the undying love they had,
is now wilted and discolored.
He gave her his heart
and trusted her with everything he had.
But she turned him away for another.
She was naive,
took his love for granted.
Now she is alone.
The boy was so lost and blinded by pain.
He just could not stand to be without her,
refused to live without her.
Swinging back and forth so steadily,
a single tear rolled down his soft, pale cheek.
The dying rose was the last thing he saw;
and the girl was the last thing he thought of.

((Originally written: October 18, 2005))
 
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