an even number

windblown,
i let the shredded petals go.
one by one,
plucked by my fingers,
i watch them as they spiral
to the ground.

one remains,
clinging to the pistil
held loosely in my hand.

i turn my eyes to you.
you simply smile and say,
“now you know my answer,”
before turning around
and away.

how roundabout,
your systematic process
of breaking a heart.

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