The single red rose fell at the usual speed, and yet it’s
still falling, even now.
I can see it, whenever I close my eyes, be it in yet another
fitful attempt to sleep, or just when I blink, the rose falls yet again.
The bud had just opened, it was still at the phase where it
was barely more than a bud. She always preferred them like that, she found the
fully extended flower to be too big, too showy.
That’s why I gave her that one.
That’s why she was holding it.
Then it fell when she did.
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