He had told her she was forever.
And painted a garden full of her favorite flowers.

He had built up this expectation in her soul that she was the one.
And when December came and went, when the freeze destroyed every daisy,
she had a feeling it wasn't ever going to be.
Their Spring had been abandoned in that flower bed so many months ago,
and though she kept waiting for the sun to melt away the ice on their love,
no amount of warmth seemed to be adequate.

So with reserved hands she pulled bitterly at one singular daisy. She plucked the icy petals from its head and began whispering:

"He loves me… he loves me not… he loves me… he loves me not… he loves me…"
This monotonous chant went on for what seemed to be forever.
And when the final petal sat between the pads of her fingers she pulled ever so gently…
"He loves me not…"
She let it slip from her grasp as it delicately floated to the soil beneath her feet.
And as if seeing for the first time, the garden that lay below, she decided he wasn't worth plucking petals any longer.

Spring would come again and her flowers would flourish just as brightly as last year.
Her garden would be beautiful without his nourishment.

With triumph in her bones and happiness in her soul she gently plucked a daisy and began to whisper:
"I love me… I love myself… I love me… I love myself…"
And when the final petal sat between the pads of her fingers she pulled ever so carefully…
"I love me… and for the first time… it is enough."
She let it slip from her grasp as it delicately floated to the soil beneath her feet… and as if seeing for the first time, the woman that was beneath the tears, she decided no one would take her worth again.