The Last breath

A flower’s last breath happens before the last petal falls, before its leaves brown and fade and wither away. A flower’s death opens and blooms the moment before its bulb shoots through the dirt.

Love is the same. It dies at the last bedside where cracked, splintered eyes have shared a million yesterdays. Bent, worn hands touch and thin, thin lips whisper goodbye.

Love’s death begins with the first smile and blooms raw and true with the first kiss. Love’s first breath holds on until it becomes the last breath.

_________________________ Michael Ritoch on his best days tries to be a poet/writer. He finds joy in his wife, two daughters, cats, one is really fat and the other is neurotic, reading philosophy written by old dead guys, and his friends. He writes about leadership, politics, pain, life, suffering, sometimes happiness, and whatever else comes to mind.