dry flower

I found you in an old journal. Yes, those Anne Frank types. The one that spoke about how we loved and how I longed for him. You were once a fresh flower, blooming, you and me, we shared the glow.
You stared at me from in between the pages, tucked away in folds of old paper. That love note, I wrote years ago. You and the love note, you are both yellow now. Quiet a journey this has been! You sat there, softly in between the diary, witnessing everything that transpired between him and me. You saw, you lived.
Oh old flower, as fresh as you were once, you are nothing but a symbol of what it is with him now!
Dry! There is nothing left to soak myself in. No tears, no love, no emotions.
Your crisp brown leaves, withering, they have to be gathered.
I let go of you my witness! For you and me, we once shared secrets!

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