The single red rose fell at the usual speed, and yet it’s still falling, even now.
I can see it, whenever I close my eyes, be it in yet another fitful attempt to sleep, or just when I blink, the rose falls yet again.
The bud had just opened, it was still at the phase where it was barely more than a bud. She always preferred them like that, she found the fully extended flower to be too big, too showy.
That’s why I gave her that one.
That’s why she was holding it.
Then it fell when she did.