the rose

i was clearing out the cobwebs
in the musty old attic earlier today
and i came across a faded red rose
pressed neatly between the pages
of my college chemistry textbook
the fragrance had stained the pages
through the now crumbling paper towel
i'd wrapped the rose in
i wondered who must've given it to me
for me to have preserved it so
the age of the text revealed a clue
but for the life of me i'd forgotten
the name or face of the one i'd treasured
but i remembered telling myself to put in a note
in case true love wasn't so faithful
and thinking it silly to even consider the concept
and with a heavy sigh for lost innocence
i threw rose and book in the trash
i just wish i could do the same
with the memory of the rose giver
that i now see with DVD clarity
laying in bed at three in the morning
time's supposed to heal all wounds
but no time can completely erase
the memory of the first broken heart

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