The Roses I Kept
“The Roses I Kept”
I asked you what to do with them,
the roses I gave before we broke
their petals still soft with promises,
their scent still whispering us.
You said, throw them away.
Just like that.
As if love were something
that could be taken to the curb,
left for morning to collect.
But I couldn’t.
So I let them dry
watched red turn to rust,
silk to paper,
life to memory.
Now they rest in a box somewhere,
quiet and light as regret.
Each petal a piece of what we were,
each stem a reminder
that even when love dies,
it leaves something behind
for the ones who can’t let go.
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