I'd be a fool.

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That queasy sick feeling strengthens at dark. I feel hopeless more and more as the sun light dissipates. I knew it was going to happen, just didn't want to believe it to be true. I have only seen you twice in a month, yet you still text me everyday and call a few out of the blue. I was hanging on to something I wish was there. I prayed that it would stay longer than the roses in the vase, yet they are all dried up and crumble if not delicate. The way I felt I had to be with you to keep you interested. The aroma still stands if you inhale just right, but faintly like the memory of you being in my presence. I still hope you come knocking on my door, yet I'd be a fool to believe that to be true.