The Night We Met...

Ever wondered why the dead receive more flowers than the ones living...
Until this moment, I would never want to imagine...
The night, I came to her grave,
Where she was decked up with her favorite
White roses, and her chocolate milkshake at one side.
She found her peace buried under.

She was so beautiful that her smile could light up a whole town
Even without knowing her and with all the drifts and turns I admired her
Her innocence was singular
Mixed with desire
Those who passed by her could not get over her charming igniting person she was.
She was like those beautiful petals
The others were full of bitterness

Life is extremely unusual
If you don't fit in with the crowd
Some yell it out
But never really understand that every tiny thing matters
They never understand it can save a life by being kind
Everyone is kind until they drive to kill oneself

In the end, everything matters,
Every single word becomes a scar in the heart
She was hurt, where she was caged alone with those faint voices screaming over
Which didn't take long before she was lost
Now she's naked in that tomb
One by one her petals fall off like a melting wax
Seems like hell, unaware what to do
Ghosted by her
I found an answer
Why the dead receive more flowers
Because guilt is more stronger
Than those apologies and kindness
A flower to say sorry
A flower for forgiveness
A flower for a thought of silence
A flower of unsaid goodbyes
A flower that I'll never forget you
Is the Night We Met...