It’s Better to
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Thorns can prick,
But won’t bleed you.
She slammed her pencil onto the tabletop, after angrily crossing out the lines, and laid her head in her hands. What a naive fool she’d been. Her heart was bleeding still.
She’d put him on a pedestal, believed he would be the answer to all her problems.
She was wrong.
And the pain refused to leave. The memories were sweet, but the end cut deep.
The longing remained, but the love was gone. The pain washed over her each day she saw him, but he was nothing but a thorn.
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