Petals Plucked by Insecurities

She plucked petals
one by one
as if love was
a game a luck:

some type
of Russian roulette

where she said:

"He loves me",
and sighed relief

Or

"He loves me not",
and felt a bullet in her head.

But love is not a game.
Love is certitude.
It's either admiring the flower
as it is, or gathering all the plucked petals
that one can find
and putting them together
to create a flower
that everyone can admire
in person or
from afar