Dried they fall rather quickly.
Stomped beneath the feet of passersby.
None of who knew that they were once a symbol for love.
Dried husks of affection.
Nothing more than aged vegetation scattered down dirty streets.
Even nesting birds ignore the rubbish.
But I swear, I was once adored.
My petals fragrant, jewel-toned and the texture of velvet on skin.
Not a memory anymore.
Now a nuisance the wind blew up into your face.