Benefit of the Doubt (A Golden Shovel)

I wonder if you’d change if you had the chance, but I suppose I’ll

ponder that forever. For I have no more hope to give

that you will find the words to say I’m sorry, that you

would ever mean it. For now, I will simply imagine the

flower you will molt into in the next life. Seeking to benefit

from the rain in the unforgiving nature of 

a drought. I wish you petals that shine with the

shadow of a withering doubt.