Wow I felt this. There is a point that you can never return to what it was and captured it well here

“Time, that patient craftsman,
molded us until we became strangers,
two travelers who share the road,
but not the destination.”

…and…

“And ours, however painful it is to admit,
ended where it had to end:
at the exact point where I stopped loving you
and you stopped recognizing me.”

There is so much weight in those lines but at the same time, it’s like it’s lifted. When it’s done, it’s irretrievable. Wow, this is…incredible

Brilliantly penned, PAR. Excellent write with amazing storytelling my friend. This is next level good, I hope I’m this good someday. Nicely done per usual. Appreciate you.

Damian

hello dearest Par this is sad but true…love does end in moments lost…it’s like a slow tide taking grains of sand with it until your castle is washed away…I don’t know how to give up on love but I do realize when if fades great write ❤️

“appreciation”
LOL.
This is a wonderfully detailed write. Perhaps it is melancholy, yet it is written very well and holds our attention thoroughly.
Well done, Paulo.

Thank you for all you do Fia!

Well said, Fia.

Thank you for everything you do for this community, it is so appreciated Fia. Also, you always keep us well informed my friend. Appreciate you, cuz.

Damian

This is excellent Fia!
Well done chica:)

Nah, I identify as a scraggly ol pine tree. LOL. But I love the sentiment expressed in this write! It is very clever with the ideas and imagery. it gives us hope!

hello lovely Fia someday we’ll be brand new again this is beautifully written ❤️

Beautifully penned, Fia. This is a lovely write my friend, always a fan of your musings. Appreciate you, cuz.

Damian

Oh damn, girl! This is a brilliant piece of writing. Not only the idea of roses, but each stage and facet of their existence…and we are indeed like them! 🌹

It’s a shame we can’t be new roses longer. We get older and look back at how we could have dome things better. But alas, we start to wilt and time goes on until we are dust once again. Good one Fia.

My grandmother (my mom’s mom) had rose bushes in her backyard and roses often found their way onto the dinning room table. I would help her sometimes with weeding and tilling the soil around the bushes. It was a fun job getting my hands dirty and listening to her tell stories of her life. Your poem reminded me of her and some pieces of my younger self came alive as I read. I think Fia, if we keep those memories in our minds we are always young for they make us who we have become.

Thanks for sharing this tender poem, Fia
-Curt

This is quite a refreshing piece.

My Grandma was called Rose and I was named after her.

I admire your connection to nature and the surroundings.

I find this exquisite and delicate in its own way.

Peaceful and pleasant read. x