flowers .

pluck. he loves me. the firsts; the first love, the first lust, the first longing. the first time you want to but don’t want to at the same time.

pluck. he loves me not. the seconds; they tick by, minute after minute, falling after another. the leftovers of time.

pluck. he loves me. because for all that it’s worth, it’s really not worth that much.

pluck. he loves me not. and then there’s the questions without answers, the songs without rhymes.

pluck. he loves me. these rose petals represent the passion and tenderness and possibilities.

pluck. he loves me not. but they fall and decay and fade away; one day it will be like they never existed at all.

pluck. he loves me. pluck. he loves me not.

pluck.

he loved me.

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