The morning after she left reminded me of the pulled petals off a rose – still beautiful, but not complete.

I sat in my own tears, afraid to wake up to the reality of lost love once again.

My heart pounded in its chest like a raging animal trying to escape its cage. I was thankful for the bones that formed that cage – sturdy and thick they held captive a heart that once roamed freely like a gypsy does.

Her love tamed the fool that no one dared to try and settle down.

I held my eyes shut and imagined her touch. I thought back to the last time our bodies were one. That night in the rain alone in the field, we were like wild horses and our gypsy souls were riding them through the storm. And with each lightning strike our bodies crashed together like the slamming screen door that hung on my grandmother’s back porch.

I could still smell her perfume on the sheets; jasmine with a hint of vanilla.

I opened my eyes hoping to find it all a dream and her soft body lying next to me. But it was too late.

Beauty in any form dies quickly, it never simply fades away – just like the pulled petals off a rose.

– Jay Long