It is supposed to be such a romantic day,
the fourteenth of February. Yet, I know
what that day shall hold for me. Rose
petals cast to the winds to litter upon the
snow covered ground.

Unread words fall asunder as petals are
trampled beneath haphazard footfalls.
Who would have thought anyone would
even think about treading here within
these woods. Yet I know it was you on
the run once more, scared again.

I saw you look back over your shoulder,
your hazel eyes looking back at me
in wonder. A petalless rose held out in
a peace offering with tears running
the gauntlet again.