Author's Notes:
Hello! I realize that this is extremely short, but I didn't want to make it longer without knowing how you, my audience, would react to it. Why invest my much-enjoyed (and seldom found) spare time into something that wouldn't be read? So if you want more, let me know. There's no requirement for reviews or anything, it just depends on whether or not I think people would read it, and whether or not I have the time to do it. So let me know what you think, okay?
WaterColor
I sit on my bed, gazing out the window at the stars. They mock me, twinkling on a velvet blanket that seems to be haunting. The tears come to my eyes unbidden as I realize that the soft night sky is the same haunting blue as his eyes. My heart wrenches again as I try to block the picture, my tears fall onto his last gift to me. The rose shimmers in the soft light, the tears forming the illusion of dew on its petals. His words flash through my mind, reminding me again that the rose had yet to fade, seeming stronger than his love for me. I sob then, my heart shattering, my soul collapses. All I had ever wanted was his love. Was that not enough, was I not enough? Our love was eternal; death could not stop it, yet he had gone. Maybe forever was a lie, nothing more then a pretty word. If so, love is its companion. I feel like a broken, beaten angel-capable of so many things, yet unable to save myself from pain. It's a beautiful picture-an angel with broken wings, hair to the wind, feathers all around. But it hurts. All I want is solace, some reason as to why I was not enough to satisfy him. Was my love nothing to him? Did it mean not a thing? I offered him every part of me, and in return he gave me a goddamn flower. It's pretty. It's actually beautiful. It's graceful, elegant, everything that I'm not, and it means more to him then I do. It's ironic. He gave me one last gift, and it's everything to him that I'm not. The picture of beauty, of elegance, and eternal. But yet he says that our love is like a rose. The rose is more then our love is. The rose is eternal. It carries on. This rose can last forever, but yet our love cannot. Just answer me this: Why?