The petals of the once-red rose are now a muddy brown, bleached of all their colour by the years of being pressed in my heavy English-to-English dictionary. They crumble the instant I try to take them in my hands.

I smell what is left of them, one last time – but they now have nothing to offer. Β 

I hold out my palms to the cold December wind, and it gladly takes the remains, the burden of memories, off me. The crumbs scatter here and there, and soon, I can see them no more.

The last bits of you are gone. I am free once more. I hold on no longer.


16 thoughts on “Remains

      1. ha ha πŸ™‚ I never held out my palm to offer them to winds cause they were given to me by my hubby when we were in college πŸ™‚ and they are still there in my diary πŸ™‚


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s