Plucking Petals

I was beautiful until I met you; a white rose in a field of wildflowers. Out of all the flowers you had to choose from, it was I that you chose. You picked me and plucked me, stripping me of my beautiful white petals, staining them as you dropped them to the ground. When you find a flower to be beautiful, you are not supposed to pick it, I've heard. Love is about appreciation and not possession. I forgot who said that, but whoever it was, they were wise. It doesn't matter, I suppose, what matters is I thought you loved me - I truly did.

But I was wrong; you never loved me. I am not beautiful anymore. You never loved me because I am now only a stem.