Her Flower
Its beauty,
ephemeral.Sowing, sprouting,
A blossom.
Wilting, fading,
Forgotten.
Like the petals strewn across the pages of the last book we read.All that is left is a baby’s breath,
Pressed in the pages between my hands,
My only memory of what it once was.-DY
(via difficult)
(via reliefs)
(via s-t-y-l-e-t-s)
(Source: lilylikestodraw, via hemoglobin)
(via s-t-y-l-e-t-s)
(via meleonore)