a girl on a bench

it felt more real then, at that moment laying next to him. our two worlds collided again in what we thought would be extraordinary bliss, but it wasn’t. it wasn’t extraordinary. it wasn’t bliss. it was that awkward moment in between a rose’s life. not dried to a crisp, preserved perfection for eternal peace and simplicity; not blooming and vibrant and free. it was brown, falling slowly into pieces.

i wanted him to take my heart and carry it in his hands everywhere he went, with a gentle warmth. but instead it was lying there next to him in the light of the morning sun, just waiting to be found.