I'm sorry that I never got to tell you that I loved you.
I'm sorry that I never go to cheer you on.
I'm sorry I never got to share those moments with you.
I'm sorry but I have to move on.
Becuase you're dead.
You're buried six feet under all the stupid mistakes, and regrets, and apologies.
My red roses of guilt have withered as I visit less and less.
As the petals fall into the soil, the begin to create new roses.
Roses with love, lust, and adventure.
But yet I visit still, and am happy to see the beautiful roses start to go and cannot wait to see the flowers fully bloom.
I come to visit you; your smile, your laughter, your worth.
And I remember the good times.
But while I visist still, I will have my red roses to remind me of new beginnings.
Created: Mar 21, 2011cheyy_b Document Media