Family

Ever since I was a kid, every summer was the same ever since I could remember. I would celebrate the end of school by spending time with my mother at her quaint flower shop that double as our home on the top floor. When I wasn't working, I would leave early to swim with my friends, and when I came back mother, father and I would pick the best flowers to go on sale, all but one. The first pick was for me to chose, take to my room and care for until it died, then I would pick a brand new flower and let the process repeat. I would pick a new flower every time, never the same type twice, until I saw it.

The most beautiful flower. A rose, in the middle of rows upon rows of roses there was one that was sitting beautifully, directly under the sun's golden rays. It almost seemed to glow. After that I was fascinated with them, wanted to change my name, on and on I would rant to mother and father stupid facts about roses that they already knew. Father would bring me a bouquet of them every year on my birthday, and after school, mother greeted me home with a rose. Life was perfect, then father died.

The first year after his death, I half hoped he would greet me with a handful of roses, one for each day he was away. The second year mother grew ill, very ill, still she greeted me with roses until she couldn't. After that the roses stopped coming, they lost all their magic. Time passed the world moved on. Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to years. I learned to live without them, learned to live alone, then one day that all changed.