She loves me.

She loves me not.

Pulling the petals of a flower,

looking for an answer.

As if killing something beautiful is going to find the solution to my problem.

She loves.

She loves me not.

I keep pulling petals out one after one, but still nothing.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

The flowers life remains in my hands,

shards of its life scattered around me

Only to be blown away by the next breeze.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

Only 4 petals left,

But still the pile grows around me,

With the next wind

My answer will come.

She loves me.

She loves me not.

Only the last two, but I see how the story is going to end.

Do I pull them and reassure what I already believe, or do I leave the last two?

Hoping that maybe it will generate new petals to change my outcome.

I drop the flower and walk away.

Still wondering about her through the day.

I return the next morning at dawn,

Only to find my flower gone.

I spend the day wandering the streets.

Alone and confused,

I still look for the answer.

In a nearby meadow I see a field of flowers.

I rush over and I am engulfed, but no amount of picking is going to change the out come.

She loves me.

She loves me____