Where did all those feelings go? People spend their whole lives looking for love. Poems and songs and entire novels are written about it. But how can you trust something that can end as suddenly as it begins?
Me in public: *listening to music with my earbuds on*
Me internally: NANCY REAGAN MEANEST & THINNEST OF THE FIRST LADIES MOVES INTO THE WHITE HOUSE YA-BAH-DAH-BAH IT’S THE 80S
YA-BAH-DAH-BAH OOH THE 80S YA-BAH-DAH-BAH WHAT A WORLD WE LIVE IN MARCH MARCH MARCH OF THE FALSETTOS
He holds the rose in his hands and cries about a sickly smell it produces, stating it reminds him of her: the scent it gave was in its entirety, her. That phrase made sense only to him.
Conventions made her think he was being sweet. It was a compliment to her, and she would treasure it for days. Treasure it as she kissed a different boy that told her she really did smell of roses and meant it whole heartedly. To him, she was the universe and more.
The mallicious tide of his mind was brought on by her telling him that she had someone else. He’d tried his hardest to fight her, but she’d told him she was guilty of enduring pain from loving someone else for so long and he’d suddenly understood and quietened.
It was unfortunate that the boy she loved, who’d told her the rose he gave her was her scent, was in love with someone else.
“you took the rose literally. I was making a statement.. I love him. Not you.”
She never understood the statement, other than the obvious.