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It's a memorabilia—of you creating a bookmark
through a perfumed wisteria petals along your long and luscious fingers. You placed it between a torn and colour beige page of your all-time favorite novel.


You're a poet— writing some of the scorching lines in every piece. It's always about the screaming voice of a smudging ink from the wildest quill.
'How could it be so pure when you lost one of a single fragment of wisteria petals?'


A pseudonym— which it lingers like a scent of cinnamon buns with a caramelized tea.
Every toss you made in these petals; splashing a stain mark on my dress.


And that crimson wisteria— could no longer be a hedonistic ornamental. Chanting in a cacophonic way, bleeding every inch of it, broke each stem and fragile leaves.
Now, lifeless on the ground without your delightful catch.





Once a upon a time, I'm your favorite blossom
You're gone now and left me doomed




© A.Gracieyyy