This rose i hold in my hand i took

in remembrance of us, so that for every petal

that may fall is a reassurance that there will be

one less day that i should be burdened with the though of you.

Each day i count the minutes i spend thinking, wondering

what exactly went wrong, what i could have done to save it.

there was not rhyme, nor reason, but a need to end.

for if we had not, even our friendship would have gone down into ruins.

we had said our feelings would never change. 'twas lust, not love...

Each day i count the minutes i spend hating myself for letting this end.

But each time i reach ten, i know there will be one less day,

one less minute, that i will spend blaming myself.

for i know now, it had to end...