Of Flowers and Contemplations

"He loves me."
Or so he says.
It seems to be true.
But who am I to judge?
My affection has blinded me
And I would not care even if...
"He loves me not."
For there is always that chance, you know.
I am not the prettiest flower
And this daisy that I hold is far more pleasant
Though it has,
By now,
Only half of its petals.
But...
"He loves me."
Maybe I have a redeeming quality
That I've never noticed.
Could it be?
It could.
Maybe.
But even if...
"He loves me not."
Oh, who am I kidding?
He could have much better.
He's only biding his time
Until the one he wants
Has bloomed
And rid herself of the bee
That now attaches her.
But until then...
"He loves me."
I have him for now.
At least a few months
Weeks
Days
Of perfect bliss
Are mine to treasure
Like the petals of this daisy
That he gave to me this morning.
But, what's this?
The daisy has wilted.
The petals are nearly gone, and
"He loves me not."

Tags: Flowers, Thoughts, Love