quiet is violent
scattered around everywhere like the roses a dancer receives after a performance. These were life’s’ last tribute to the dead.
It is ironic isn’t it, how we allow our lovers to fade quicker in our thoughts, than these artificial petals, that we bought for two dollars as an afterthought, at the corner store; aren’t people more than that? Matt was worth more than that, but I hardly gave him a second thought until now. It hurt too much.