Maybe it was love. No one told her what love felt like, so she could only guess carefully.
Maybe it's love, or maybe it's just an accidental flower fall.
Falling gracefully, gently, with the breeze.
Blowing up a pool of ripples...
Whose laughter and curses are filled with despair and hope,
Just like the dead leaf butterfly spending its last perfect summer,
Desperate and hopeful,
What...?
So sentimental.