I watched you fall, fall, fall to the ground.
You went so slowly, drifting, placid.
As if, despite your softness and seemingly elegant grace,
You did not want to land.
As you floated, pulled by an invisible force of nature,
I looked to the ground,
Your inevitable landing point.
The dirt, the grime, the debris.
What you were to become.
I saw it all.
In that last possible instant,
That final moment before you succumbed,
So poignantly to the fate befalling your once pristine state of grace,
I placed my hand below you.
I caught you in my pale white palm.
I could envision my fingers crushing you,
Taking that last burst of life and destroying your small ray of hope.
Alas, I couldn’t do it.
I could not destroy the beauty that made you so glorious in your prime.
And now, even as you lay dying in my fingers, I will give you peace.
I will capture you forever in glass.
I will frame you for the world to know,
That once, so long ago,
You were by definition,
A rose petal.
But so much more to me.