that our lives are far to thin,
so why did i not believe you,
'til it was your shards in my skin,
now these scars upon my fingers,
run too deep just to forget,
despite the wilted roses,
from the first time that we met,
and i don't know why i told you,
i was good at letting go,
for all i do now's watch dead flowers,
and pray somehow they will grow.
-e.h.
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