On a nightstand in a teenager’s room, a glass vase filled with violets leans precariously against a wall. The only thing saving the vase from a thousand-piece death on the hardwood floor is the groove in the nightstand’s surface that catches the bottom of vase, and of course the wall itself. The violets, nearly a week old, droop in the light of a waning gibbous moon. Wrinkled petals are already piling up on the floor between the nightstand and the wall, and a girl only six days sixteen stares at the dying bouquet from her bed.

When I’m gone, time won’t change. It will pass the way it always has. I’ve seen it happen. People always move on. You will find your mate. You will move on then I’ll be nothing but a memory, but I will never forget you. I will always love you for you have drawn emotions in me no other has in two thousand years. I will live with the memory of you in my heart because nothing can erase you from within me. You have forever changed me. You’ve taught me what it’s like to truly love.

1 2 3 5