Your favorite flowers are orchids. They take alot of care, at least that’s what I read, when I went to my local supermarket to find the best one, with freckled orange inside of its delicate white petals.
I bought a small one and sat it upon my window sill, watered it once a week, and made sure the roots weren’t always green.
Your favorite colour is green. It seems that I remember every small detail you ever shared, picked up every crumb of you into the palm of my hand.
But you couldn’t even bother to remember my birthday
or that my favorite flowers were roses.
I wish you would’ve given me a bouquet of roses and let them all die. Maybe I’d be able to stop loving you, maybe this fondness would die too.
An excerpt from my (non-traditional) novel in verse.