Alone, 

it rested 

below the fresh 

and blossoming 

bouquet, 

forgotten, 

dropped. 

As if it’s work was done,

the petal fell, 

tired, 

heavy, 

worn.

It left the collective

where it had so faithfully held on,

believing that its beauty lay

in its contribution.

It could hold on no more.

It had to drop away. 

It had to pull apart.

In its moment of letting go 

and seeming it was done,

that petal 

became 

its most beautiful 

version 

of itself.