If we were to speak again, we would both reminisce about the things we neglected to do for each other.
We all know what love remembers and what love forgets.
But you and I have not forgotten each other — no, we have not forgotten each other at all
The blood red is the color of our heartbreak, the delicate leaves of our pain, the thorns of our anger.
What is the nature of our forgiveness?
We have not paused to analyse that at all, nor examine it.
All we can notice is the flower that is difficult to grow, hard to preserve, and treasured in its death.
©2015 France Ann Osborne