3 Memories

I looked down at the rose, my heart shattered into a million pieces, each piece stabbed with a small knife. Reflected in each pedal was a memory. In one there was my father throwing roses at me as I danced around on my bed as a small child. In another my mother, bowed and handed me a rose every day. Then we were all together, mother braiding my hair and placed a rose crown on my head and decorated my braid with an array of roses. Angry tears pricked my eyes as memories apon memories filled my head and consumed my being.

My hand tightened around the rose, it's thorns dug into my palm and cut open my flesh. With a loud scream I threw the rose across the room, it knocked down a picture off the wall. I wiped my tears and stumbled over, dropped down to my knees. I picked up the fallen photograph as drops of tears fell onto the now shattered picture frame. What once used to be my family was nothing more than a painful memory. I held it to my chest and strangled on a cry. I had no idea at the time, but that was the first moment of my new life.

Each day, he came back at the same time and tried to strike up a conversation. Everyday I promptly ignored him, not willing to open up to a fickle flirt. No matter if I talked to him or not, he bought a rose and left it with me, each time more painful than the last. "Goodbye, princess, see you around." "See you tomorrow, princess." "Try not to miss me too much, princess," each the same meaning yet said a different way. Until March, twenty-fifth.