Emma stared down at the flowers that she had bought a little while ago that have withered and browned in age; those flowers reminded her of so many things though it broke her heart to buy them herself.
Her eyes closed, and she could see the many days of the past where she took care of a precious child that had always tried to act older than he was. Sometimes it worked for him, and sometimes it didn't.
She remembered playing many games with him while trying to finish their chores.
Emma could recall the coldness of the many nights waiting with flowers like her own that were long past their living breaths.
She remembered holding the young boy to her chest as he cried himself to sleep on the nights that he couldn't fake strength anymore; he was very little, and she, herself, very worried.
Nights became days, and she could remember how bright the days seemed when Spain returned home, a little battered and bruised but living.
Emma would patch up his wounds, and reprimand him at not being careful enough when she knew that it was hard not to be harmed badly when you as a country had to fight in a war.
Belgium would hold him when the pain became too much when it was emotional and mental.
She remembered having to sing both of them to sleep on many nights.
Emma could remember the utter joy when Antonio bought her the same flowers that grew old and withered when he was away.
Belgium would place them in water, and take good care of them.
Like wise, she could remember days that weren't so bittersweet; she could easily recall some of the silly fairs that they had attended as a family.
Those days were they ate sweets, and played games with little Romano.
Things seemed so at peace with all three of them then.
She remembered when they broke as a family, and she had to nurse her broken heart back to life.
Emma could see those days of old before heartbreak when she and Antonio had romantic dinners, or he brought home flowers just for her.
She knew that those days would never return; Romano had grown up, and now considered Spain his best friend rather than a father figure.
Spain while kind would never take Belgium back in to his life as the woman that he loved.
She settled on friendship for now, and watched the way that Spain interacted with the other nations and how he seemed to have given up the pain from his pirating days yet she could never give up the bittersweetness of those times or the memories of herself comforting him after many the many battles and heartbreaks that happened at sea.
Emma was a constant reminder of those times, so she didn't stand a chance of reclaiming his heart yet she feared the bond that he had with Romano or France or Prussia or anyone else as it could develop past friendship to leave her lost and alone with her broken heart.
Either way, she couldn't recreate those times, and the pain had been so harsh and the fear so strong; Emma only really longed for the joy of back then that only seemed intensified past the pain of old.
She smiled sadly as she stared at those withered flowers that seemed to only indicate to her in this moment of how broken her heart was and seemed to forever be.