Rosebud

.


You were already gone when I met you, a pink rosebud on a satin pillow. By days end, you were wrapped in a thousand tears and buried in a silent place.


Later there was a wildness behind your mother's eyes, like the sky before an autumn storm. She spoke in a calm voice, but in the distance, dry leaves rattled in the wind. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and there was a scent of rain in the air.


That was years ago. She still thinks of you every day, whether she speaks of you or not. Even for me, despite our brief encounter, I think of you more often than you would imagine.