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Scarlet roses decay along my bed side table. Cautiously watching the morning light trickle the lonely atmosphere of my room, I drag my fingers against the wedges of the faded roses hoping just maybe a prick would take away the stubborn stain imprinted on my heart. As red liquid steadily rushes out of the delicate skin your own hands used to embrace, I feel no pain. Aurora pricked her finger and died without knowing her lover would take her into his comforting arms, reviving her. I died knowing my Prince Charming was the one who killed me.
It seemed so long, too long ago that these roses that lay dead on my bedside table were picked fresh from the local super market for you to then to give to me on Valentine's Day. Like every year. I am taken back to hours I had spent gazing into your eyes stupidly thinking that you were the one as the sound of crickets chirped to the red and yellow tones flushing the sky above us. Truly and stupidly, I loved you.
But as time went on and the flowers turned shades of brown, no longer smelling as lively as they once did, I somehow, somewhere stopped thinking about moments shared between us, all the words right and wrong, last minute promises and sworn by routines, anything that made me ponder to you.
I remember seeing her at the super market, her brown locks that just passed her stomach, details of makeup enhancing her features, cherried lips pressed against yours. You smiled into the kiss, happily. From a far it looked like you looked at her the same way you looked at me, except the stars held in her eyes were a bit dull. You, reaching for a light that was once sparked, desperately trying to reignite everything that made us. I pitied you.
You saw me from the few meters where I was standing. Your eyes replayed this same scenario that you have watched, edited and rewatched for so long. I smiled letting you have this. You called my name walking over to me taking her hand in yours. You said friendly remarks claiming that it's been so long and how good I looked. Healing does a number when make the effort. You introduced me to her and I had took a second to see it through. Her hazel eyes and her freckles along her smaller tanned faced. She was enhanced with everything that you once admired about me.
You looked at me expectingly, waiting for a reaction; you'd hoped to see tears swelling my eyes, discomfort in my body language as if the mere thought of you with someone else would kill me. But I looked at you the same way I looked at the roses now held in my palms. Sympathetic. Deep inside that scattered brain of yours, we both agreed that truly, you were the broken one; the one that died a little seeing me happier without you.
Smiling, I wished you a good day leaving you again, ironically, empty handed even when your hand was intertwined with hers to replace the warmth mine once gave you.
You see, no matter how hard you looked, how wide you search you can't rekindle what once was or someone I once was. But I will let you figure that on your own. With and one last exasperated breath, I threw the roses in the trash, finally ridding my last wishes to you.
