Rites

50 tears,
When you left.

A 100,
When I couldn't.

1000,
When I saw you smile.

Countless,
When you last held me.


Away you went, the storm settled.

welcome to the Rites of the dying petals.

It seems like this will be gone,
Within some time.
But, do I really want it to go?
Can I ?

Clear skies beckon me,
But the greys seem brighter.
This is my first last time....