Remains

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.  

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.

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16 thoughts on “Remains

      1. ha ha 🙂 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 🙂 and they are still there in my diary 🙂

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