My grandfather was like a rose
he was like my rose.
The one that used to sit on my dresser
and remind me of him.

It was the only thing of his I had
no clothes no jewelry no nothing.
Every time I would look at it
I’d feel like he was still here.

It’s been four years now
but it seems like an eternity.
No matter how much time passes
I will never get used to his absence.

I picked two red roses
one to lay on his casket so he will always remember me
And one to take home so I will always remember him.

After four years my rose was still perfect.
The edges were a little brittle
but the majority of the flower was still soft and still smelled like a rose.

My grandfather was a rose.
Unharmed and resistant
Unbroken and resilient
and stolen.

One day my rose was taken from me.
I don’t know how or why
all I know is that it is gone.
All I know is that I will never get it back.

I still don’t understand why my rose isn’t with me anymore.
I used to look at it everyday
but now I have nothing.
My rose or my grandfather-nothing.

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