I don’t think of you whenever the tree sheds a dying flower.
I’m reminded of you because you are always there wherever I am.
But as far as I know, the tree that bears no leaves sheds a flower or two whenever I think about you.
“You’re my favourite colour during this season.” I confessed to the flower when I held it within my fingers.
“You’re as pink as she is.” I confess again and I smile, while putting it back inside the jar and sealing it tight.
I close my eyes and I see you beneath these tall trees covered with flowers that are trying to steal your colour.
No. Actually, they can’t. There’s something within you that makes you different from the rest.
I think it’s because you are the only shade of Pink I can see. The flowers are now faded.
Maybe it’s just because they’re dead and you aren’t.