I wrote your name on the red paper.
Every time you hurt me, I crushed it.
It turned into a rose,
The thorns making my hands bleed.

I kept holding on.
Every time you loved me, I unfolded it.
It turned into a piece of red paper.
Rather scrunched, but your name was still on it.

I crushed it.
Then I unfolded it.
I crushed it again.
Then I unfolded it again.

Until I realised, your name disappeared.
The ink either melted into the paper,
or simply gone due to the friction.
The red paper was almost blank.

I put it, somewhere.
It couldn’t lie flat anymore.
The edges sticking up,
as if it was ready to flutter away.

Then the gust of wind took my red paper away.

I guess it’s time for a new paper.