Whenever I close my eyes,
I think of the wedding.
I think of the diminished roses that I cradled to my chest.
I think of how my heart pumped ferociously in my throat, darting for an exit.
I don't know what told me so.
Was it the way my father looked at me with eyes that sparked a nervousness within me?
Was it the way that I saw you the night before, wishing a good night?
I saw the ashen look on my mother's face the next day.
Maybe it was the ghost of a flower that wilted in me.
Months later, I hear from friends that you've gone back to your old ways.
And I wonder if I meant anything to you in the first place.