“He loves me” One petal gone.

“He loves me not” One more gone.

“He loves me” One more for the ground.

“He loves me not” Last one too joins the fallen petals.

Now the stem is of no use to her. It goes too.

She picks up the next flower.

 

The flower that bloomed so full of love is sacrificed for pandering to human insecurities.

 

Is this love?


Written for Friday Fictioneers. 

Challenge is to write a story for the photo within 100 words.

Photo credit: Marie Gail

Word count: 68

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