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The Fate of the Rose

She was always careless, but I was never able to hold it against her. She was always so genuinely upset, whether her latest victim had been a priceless vase or an ephemeral trifle, and so earnest in her promises to improve.

I tried to remember that as I swept up the rose petals, and to tell myself that it was not important, that only her intent mattered, her sweet insistence on taking a rose from my garden, her promise to flatten petals from it amongst the leaves of her psalter and her commonplace book, but I had to ask myself: could she remember a man, when she could not remember the rose that she had left on the carriage step as she turned to make her final farewells?

I rather hoped not. It would be easier for her to forget, once she was married to a richer man.

Not another anti-Valentine, though I admit it might as well be, but a piece inspired by this week’s VisDare – though, as is often the case, I glanced at it several days ago on my phone, and I took away rather an unfair impression of the lady. However, ’tis done, and as ever I urge you to follow the link to find both the image and the other responses to it.


One comment on “The Fate of the Rose

  1. Aww, that’s so sad. But beautifully written 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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