Petals in Hand

I’m left standing with nothing but a red rose,
Or what remains, crushed to a fine pulp
In the palm of my outstretched hand

The same fingers, which once so beautifully
Intertwined with your own in a perfect natural fit,
As though we were always intended to find one another

Now, I am left with nothing but the fragrance and feeling of
Crushed petals, the texture of beauty rubbing against my palm,
Which perfectly represent the state of my heart

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