The Inner Workings of a Happy Girl

Petals

I watch in anguish,

as the petals touch the ground.

My heart breaking silently,

Crumbling without a sound.

Being young is hard.

You feel to your core.

I slowly grab the last petal,

and my little heart grows sore.

I pluck it from the stem,

Before it falls, I stop.

And these are the words my little voice says,

“I guess he loves me not…”