Crumbling

Atop my curls, dotted by cerulean barrettes,
The blossoms watched, perched lush and alive.
I threw our memories down the rows,
One draped upon each falling petal,
And beckoned the mother and groom forth.

Surely not the bride and groom,
For I loved her as solely my mother.
Until I found that our love had waned.

My pleasant memories laced into the petals
And withered into an obscure resentment.
The relationship faded and fixed a void unto me.
I will never know what may have happened
With only us and without him.

These petite blossoms further
Crumble with each slight touch;
One harsh squeeze could turn them to dust.

Daughterly love now rests at a distance.
Whenever the pieces begin to crumble,
I toss them away, ceaselessly wondering
When the pieces will run out and
Nothing more will remain.