The Color of Love’s Vanishing Point
When an old love of mine withdrew from me,
I hadn’t quite noticed it at first.
Like a flower pressed between
two pages in a book,
the fading of his love I now can clearly see.
At first, love was a rose deep ruby red.
Never could I think that it would end.
Bright and beautiful was my love’s attentiveness to me,
but little by little,
the red rose lost its vivid hue.
Love notes stopped appearing
from places where he always used to leave them.
Our times together slowly had decreased.
My attempts to spark romance
were less and less reciprocated.
The day my love said farewell to me,
I opened the book to see the rose
I’d hoped would stay passionately red.
What met my eyes
was gray.
Oh, dwindled love that cannot flourish.
No matter if I tried to preserve it,
dull gray had become its vanishing point.
His love for me was then
beyond revival.
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