Aconite

You weren't my lilac 
cut from the tree
on the eve of summer, 
that I treasure for days, 
smiling like a child. 

You were the winter aconite 
hidden on the bottom 
of the forest floor, 
that I held in my hand 
for at least a little while. 

You caught my eye. 
You were yellow 
like the grin on my face, 
and you were delicate. 
I could strengthen you. 

I held up your beauty 
for a while, in my hands 
like Atlas and the world. 
You were heavy. 
Too heavy. 

I plucked off
all your little petals 
and let you fall 
back to that floor
that I salvaged you from. 


I whispered "he loves me not" 
and walked away.