She's like a sunflower
Swaying as the harsh wind rips through her petals.
She's soft
Delicate
Easily torn to pieces by one wrong blow.
He's the wind
Slicing through her petals without a care in the world about the damage he causes.
The sad thing is that after a flower is picked apart, you can never recover it.
So, it just lays there for the rest of its life, watching the wind demolish it's next victim.
YOU ARE READING
The Diary of Her
Poetry"I let her go because I knew she could do better. And now she's gone. I wonder if I should've just been better."
