forget me not, 
in streets where metal and glass rise,
she still finds a way.

breaking cracks,
quiet, unnoticed, but alive;
if you lean in close, you can see her.

in violets, tucked against a fence,
roses, wilting in the window,
petals touched by city grime.

clinging to her colors
to her brief moment of time,
there’s something fragile
in the way,
she holds space in a city 
too fast to notice;
i stare, memorizing her outline.

as if by looking long enough,
i could keep her colors from fading 
into the rush of days.

will the pages of a book preserve her?
the way the sun catches a petal,
the way a scent lingers in the air

brief, like memory of a season
you almost forgot, until it returns.

in the quiet corners,
where she fights for light,
i feel the weight of her in my hands: 

how everything 
moves, 
changes,
        and yet, 
here she is—blooming, 
even when no one sees.

and i wonder 
how much of myself i’ve left 
scattered 
        like 
                   this,
in fragments 
across 	     this 	      city.

but flowers don’t mind.
they open, they close, they disappear.

as if that’s enough.
as if that’s everything.
if you could be still, 
for a moment,   
watch her fill 
the 
space 
     she’s 
              given.

and it is enough.
and she is everything.