Daisies

Daisies

“She loves me, she loves me not,”

I hear your familiar voice say from downstairs. I’m on my feet, looking, searching, wondering how you can just disappear.

“She loves me, she loves me not,”

But you know I love you, ‘plus que la lune et les etoiles’; how can you doubt that for a second? How could you forget?

“She loves me, she loves me not,”

Into the garden, but you’re not there either… Just a million daisies, torn asunder, scattered in the breeze.

“She loves me not,”

I hear and I cry out. It isn’t true, this can’t be real.

And it isn’t. Your voice is just inside my head.

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