Roses

The roses have shriveled up, wilting over in sorrow. How they long to be beautiful again and held with such reverence. How they long to be loved and smelled with such mystification. But now they sit there, in the vase, bending their heads down in deep sorrow for the love that they lost. And in the corner, she sits there, knees pulled tightly to her chest crying in despair for the love she lost. The one who had gifted her these beautiful flowers, the one who had held her in her arms, the one who had claimed to love her.

The one who changed his mind and left her wilted over in sorrow, just like the roses.