He loves me,he loves me not
He loves me,he loves me not
I whisper over and over again
As I pluck away at a rose from the bouquet he bought me
"Darling did you say something?"
He calls at me from the other room
I say nothing as tears well up in my eyes
The final petal falls on
"He loves me not"
I turn to find him standing in the door way
In his hands a portrait he has been working on,my happy face on the canvas isnt a reflection of my current tear smeared face
Puzzled he asks whats wrong
But how do I tell him that the petals said he doesnt love me yet on a daily he shows me that if he cut himself open I would be in every drop of his blood
So I smile and say
"The flowers are so pretty"