The rose

As i drift past the door, i smell a scent from within.
following the aromas, i see the rose.
the one he gave me.
the one that i have kept.

its smell brings wondrous memories.
of the times we laughed.
the times we cried.
and the times we kissed.

i peer down at the red petals.
they wrap around each other so tightly.
there are thorns that stick out through the stem.
but those resemble the pain he never put me through.

and as i turn to walk away,
a petal falls to the ground.
and then i am reminded,
that roses do not last for ever and neither does love.