He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not.

With each petal that falls I feel a force digging deeper inside me, creating an empty void where my heart used to lie.

I am Daisy, and I am slowly falling apart.

I haven't seen the sun for so many days now. Sometimes I wonder whether it's the light from my body fading away while the rays outside are still beaming. I don't even know. Part of me feels numb, no water tickling down my veins to keep me alive, to bring back that thrill and happiness I used to feel when he first met me. Does he even remember that day? Does he ever think about the greenmeadow reflecting the cherry blossom's pink which lay above us? When he looks up at the sky, does he remember how there was no grey to sadden the blue as there is now? I bet he doesn't. I bet he never thinks of the bird's four note tune playing in the background as if it were a movie soundtrack. That sweet yet sour melody, so high it pierced my heart cleft and left me thinking whether it was the harmony or Cupid's arrow leaving its fateful mark. I bet he never thinks of that.

But I do.

I wish I didn't.

Yet there was more to it than how the sun shone and how the birds chirped. That was the day when I could finally look up at the sky and have something, someone to dream about. A night with no stars would immediately light up at the thought of him, and any cloud to cover the blue sky beneath would instantly remind me of him, no matter what shape and what size. Before he came into my life I had nothing.

It was a red bicycle. A sad, empty woven basket at the front. I remember him leaning his bike against the willow tree which lay above me. Its green waterfall surrounding me, guarding me from the world outside. It felt as if from out of a fairytale, a locked up princess, prince strides in from an unknown land, releasing her from her cage and sweeping her off her feet. Green eyes locking in my direction, suddenly everything around us fading away like the blurred out faces in old photographs. I didn’t think it would hurt to be chosen by someone to be loved, but there is pain, and I feel it everyday, that constant tug on my heart forcing me to lose colour as the days go by. Without sunshine, without light. He picked me. That is what I remind myself everyday, even though I am not his first choiceanymore.

There is a mirror in front of me, embroidered with a golden and antique frame. Inside it there is a ghost. It's the ghost of a broken heart. The ghost of a happy soul who lost it all for unrequited love. I see myself drowning in a pool of tears, the salt burning my olive skin, pricking like thorns. My white dress is ripped to shreds, pieces of it covering the floor below me like autumn leaves laid on the ground which have lost all of their colour. The golden aura has permanently abandoned my body, unlikehers.

She gleams as if a stolen sunshine were trapped inside her eyes. That curve on her lips which fades away only to kiss him. Her fiery red curls swaying down her shoulder waiting to be tucked away by his hands. She is beautiful while I am so simple. Yet she is not a goddess, her crooked nose and short stature are left to emphasize her humanity.

Oh, what I would do to be that hand caressing his clenched tight jaw. Those shining eyes looking into his every morning. Those interlocking fingers which sway together from side to side as if vines in the jungle.

But I am not, and I never will be.

For I am just Daisy, in love with a man who will always see me as nothing but a dying flower, slowly sinking into this tear-filled vase, rotting away until they replace me with a new one.. Maybe at times he'll think of me, wonder if I died from lack of water, or lack of sun. He will never know it was from lack of love.

"He loves me. He loves me not." I sing as the last two petals fall from my white dress.