Her life is a collection of things held dear...
A faded rose,
Once meant for her only true love.
Though once crimson in color,
It now rusts,
A dusty red,
Almost as though,
With the love it once stood for,
It would flourish in crimson,
Unceasingly throughout time.
This rose,
Through material in form,
Is her life.
Though once full of life,
She now searches for that one thing,
To fill her life with love,
And her love with life.