• As I pull the petals from the rose.
    "She love's me."
    "She love's me not."
    I think as the thorns dig deeper into my hand.
    "What does this prove?"
    "How will this help me get her?"
    "She love's me."
    "She love's me not."
    Time passes by.
    Blood covers my hand.
    "I've lost track."
    There is only one question then...
    "Does she love me?"