Petals

I picked the prettiest
of flowers
and plucked the petals off
one by one
until three remained
One i was fond of;
it had a strong
and velvety texture
and it was a little torn
and in need of repair.
But I could not keep it forever,
as it was slowly falling off, struggling to stay.
The second petal felt
familiar,
like a close friend
that I could rely on;
a sense of loyalty that I wanted.
The third petal
was most peculiar
and just barley hanging on,
distanced from the others.
The petal was weaker than the others,
transparent,
but there all the same.
And I sat
and sat and sat
and sat,
trying to choose
between the three
deciding which one i would keep
and call my own.
But as the sun set,
I still sat and sat and
sat and sat
and fell asleep
under the moon
all the petals
still hanging on.