The petals will all fall.

Love is like a flower.

One that you become interested in

by peering into the glass window

of the flower shop.

So, out of curiosity,

you picked that flower.

That fine,

beautiful,

pure,

rose.

For the first few days,

you have the flower in a pretty,

glass vase.

Or in a relationship,

the honeymoon stage.

But eventually,

that ends,

and the rose dies,

and the petals fold up,

lose color,

and fall to the floor

with dispair.

After all,

you can't spell lover,

without over.