Six petals on a flower.
One falls.








...He loves me.
My eyes examine every detail.
Another falls.








...He loves me not.
Four remain.
I am immersed in my thoughts.
The third is separated and gracefully falls to the ground.









...He loves me.
Half gone.
I pluck another.









...He loves me not.
Only a pair left.
I stare.
I don't want to separate them.
They become so real to me.
They seem to hold on for dear life,
knowing they only have each other now.
My two fingers reluctantly separate them.









...He loves me.
One petal stands alone.
So beautiful,
but so lonely.
I feel its pain









...for he loves me not.