I still have your Rose

It seems a million years ago,
when you gifted me a rose,
was it a symbol of your love,
Or was it you telling me to give up hope?
The rose has its place on my windowsill,
Distant, but close.
It changes everyday,
Yet it remains the same;
The petals fall,
yet the calyx stays intact.
The stalk withers,
Yet it doesn’t snap.
The water dries,
and I wet it everyday with my tears.
The Rose, red as blood,
is dotted with splotches of black,
but the colour never entirely fades.
The Rose dies everyday,
yet struggles to live.
It gives me hope that someday,
I’ll finally be able to look at you and say,
“Welcome, darling. I still have your rose.”

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