Freesias

I hold the bouquet that is my heart

In my hand. My breath becomes contaminated

With the anxiety that haunts me; I remember

"You're good. You're good. I promise."

Your voice echoes in my head - I don't know why

I always listen to what you say; I don't know why

What you say always works, makes sense.

I relax and give you my heart - I do not love you

Romantically at least. But my trust for you is

As colourful and complex as the bouquet of flowers you now hold,

But unlike the flowers, I hope

It will never wither and die.