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Dried Roses
Carissa M. Galow |
Dried roses sit in a vase on my dresser,
Each one represents something,
Memories are soaked deep within those dried petals,
Some are from friends,
They gave them to me while at karaoke,
It was all in fun,
But, t'was sweet all the same,
Some are from ex's,
They gave them to me at different moments in our relationship,
It was all in the name of romance,
And, though those relationships are over,
I still smile when I look at them now,
I could sit here and think,
"Well, they're dead",
And, that could lead to all sorts of analogies,
All that would lead to depression,
But, I choose to think of the happy times that existed,
For each rose I got,
There was true joy in the moment,
And, I cling to that instead any of the pain that followed,
I've been feeling a wave of nostalgia lately,
I can't explain it,
But, it's still there none the less,
I sit here in my room,
Staring at all of the memories that whisper to me,
The quotes, messages, and other writings on my walls,
The concert tickets, movie tickets, and rave flyers,
The many pictures of friends from so many happy times,
And, all of those roses,
Oh so many memories,
I can't have those times back,
No matter how hard I try,
But, I can at least remember them,
I choose to learn from them,
So, that as I make new memories,
I won't make the same mistakes I made before,
And, so that the joy that was there,
Can be even brighter,
Much brighter than the yesterdays of the past,
I turn once more to the corner of my room,
And, I gaze at that glass, turned vase,
I can't help but smile and cry at the same time,
So many emotions come to me as I think of the past,
Dried roses sit in a vase on my dresser
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