I watched the pale grains slip down the elegant glass, making no sound. In my hands I twirled a blood red rose that he had given to me what seeemed like eons ago, before everything had changed. I didn't know how much time had gone by, ironic as it was that I was staring at a hourglass. Time didn't matter anymore. Nothing did. He was gone. Forever. I never really had him in the first place. What had been my happiest moments had been a sham. Artificial. Faked. Maybe if I had been prettier, slimmer, cooler my period of bliss might have been longer. But no. Apparently, I din't qualify for a person to romance me, to come home to, to receive roses and poems from. I didn't deserve a companion to my soul because of my unsightly face. Apparently, I just wasn't good enough for any boy to even consider me as a girlfriend, except as a bet.
The hurtful words he had uttered the day he has crushed my heart throbbed in my chest, making it hard to breath. Words like useless, ugly,stupid echoed around in my head, reflecting them back at me relentlessly. But I had to hide the festering wound on my heart, for if he saw it, he would jeer and mock me for being in pain over such a trivial thing to him. Trivial to him, but infinitely precious to me. But the images flashed by behind my eyelids, haunting me every time I tried to get some rest. Him, with that loving look on his face. Him, giving me roses. Him, telling me how beautiful I looked. All him, and all so painfully sharp, as if they were flowers preserved in blocks of ice, still fresh as if they had just been there yesterday. I should have learned by now. I should have never let it get this far. As soon as he asked me out, I should have refused. But the mere hope that someone found me attractive and beautiful was too tempting. I just couldn't pass it up. Once again, I was let down, like always. They snicker at me and call me pitiful, scorning me, but do they really understand how hard it is, to be so utterly alone in this cruel world? I go out and gaze at all the happy couples. Simple things, like holding hands or an affectionate look seemed so big to me, so important. Because I long to have someone love me, someone to come home to after a long day, someone who doesn't ignore my looks, but cherishes them along with the rest of me. I long to have a person to hold my hand and look at me adoringly. I long for a person to build a life with. I longed for a perfect world to live in. But the world isn't perfect, now is it?
As my unfocused eyes gazed, the last grains of sand dropped from the top to rest at the bottom. My eyes sharpened, snapping back into sharp focus. Tears began to well up. How many times had I cried for the same situation, over and over again? How many times had my heart been broken, left for me to clumsily push it back together? I rose up, dropping the rose. Tiny drops of blood speckled my hands where the the thorns had plunged vengefully into my skin. I stepped on it, crushing it beneath my feet, silvery tears falling down my face. Drops of blood flowed to join the scarlet petals. It didn't matter. Who would care if hideous me bled a little? Not him.