#003 Wallflower

Do you love me? Or do you not?
My stem was ready for your touch,

my delicate roots placed firmly in the clay.

I begged you to notice me,

to pick me and to pluck me in this sea of vibrant flowers.

But, I was never beautiful enough to be part of your bouquet.

I wondered and then pondered: Does he love me? Does he love me not?

And I plucked and plucked and plucked my petals,

Until there was nothing left of me.

Now I'm here all alone in a field full of thriving others,

Wilting. Withering. Wasting away.