A rose. Such a gentle, delicate thing.
How unfortunate that it proved to be the symbol of my hatred.
I looked back in disgust at how flattered and happy I must have looked accepting this flower from him. I had embraced him, along with all of his pretty words and promises. We laughed afterwards, before he apologized for having to go. Something to do with work.
He fled into the crowd while my gaze lingered on the vibrant red petals. I vaguely remember wandering aimlessly in an emotional high, aware of nothing but my rose and his fading scent.
Somehow, I had wandered to the back of the crowd, away from the raging bonfire on the beach. The night air was cool against my skin, but when I looked up from my happy daze, I felt nothing.
Him, smiling that bright smile I thought had only been for me. Her, giggling as she gently took the rose from his outstretched hand. He said a few words which made her laugh before fading back into the crowd.
I went home, still clutching that flower to my chest as if it kept me anchored to reality. A numb ache rose from my chest, soon evolving into a raging anger at the uselessness of it all.
My feet automatically steered me to the fireplace. In one, emotion-driven impulse I tossed the rose into the flames, along with this petty school-girl crush.
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