Arthur stared at his phone; the contraption had destroyed everything.
Years of childhood friendship that had later turned in to a newly discovered love that was gone in a single heartbeat.
He hated today's society; why couldn't he have been born in a time where texting was non-existant?
Why did he have to say the wrong thing; he had never been good at saying what he felt.
He could describe hundreds of fairy tales, but he couldn't even begin to another being what was in his heart.
Shouldn't The Frog have known what he meant? They had known eachother long enough.
The thing with messaging someone this way was that you could not detect their emotions through their voice or their body.
Arthur trembled, and felt like one of the roses that Francis had always been so proud of.
Strong and tough on the outside and when you first saw it, but so very fragile in a human's grasp.
It also could not leave the threat; he, himself, was stuck in a sadness that like the flower, he couldn't escape from.
Arthur was fragile to the touch despite his 'thorny' exterior as well.
He felt like a dying rose; each tear was a petal falling to the earth as if it too had come from a dying flower.
The overwhelming sadness was like a rose being crushed with in someone's hand, and all of his thorns, the guard that he had set up for himself, had been plucked out.
His heart had wilted like a flower that just could not get his sunlight.
Francis was that sunlight; sunlight was bright, beautiful, and lifegiving.
Sunlight was also brief; it vanished just twelve hours later.
Francis had done just that; sure, it wasn't twelve hours later, but it still fit.
May be he was like an Alaskan summer; here for six months until the world was plummeted in to darkness yet again.
Sunlight was also painful to look at, and Arthur doubted that he could ever look at Francis the same way again.