Wilson Hay Kinley

The Touch Of A Rose

As I sit here, alone, in the darkness, awaiting to hear your voice once again.
I remember those words that you once bestowed upon me. With such sweet sympathy.

'Everything dies.
Even love.
Like the decaying petals of a rose. a rose with a voice no less. each petal screaming louder than the last, desperate crys, pleading for there lives. Holding on to that last bit of colour, hoping that they can once again be beautiful. An image, soiled by death.
For you see.
Nothing lasts forever.'

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