Last Night(edit x 3)

As always, he presented a bouquet of freshly-picked flowers before greeting her. As always, she counted them. Even though everything was different this time, his habit of adding one extra rose with every meeting hadn't changed. He noticed her eyes frantically searching for that one added flower, an attempt that would soon prove futile. She stopped her mental calculations, knowing she could trust him. In any case, she was simply stunned to see the sheer size of the bouquet. It symbolized their relationship. It symbolized them.

Music played in the background, far away somewhere. It was soft - almost as if part of the air surrounding them. It played with her emotions; still, she hid it the best she could.

The dim-lit atmosphere was exactly the ambience they were looking for. For a while, they felt like the only two souls alive. Somehow, in each others company, nothing else ever mattered...they could always drown out all the noise.

As beautiful as that evening was, and the countless others spent together, they knew it would never work out. He had only agreed to come for those last few moments so he could salvage some form of sanity. Sanity that would come only in her presence and linger on for a short while after she left. This time, it was different - she wasn't coming back and he was his only saviour.

He had made his mind up. Within a split second, he pulled himself away from the scene and didn't bother to glance back at it. He was gone.

It all happened too soon for her to realise. She looked back to see the dashing figure speeding away with the only symbol of their love - the bouquet. Petals flew behind in his wake and the bouquet would soon become a symbol of something unbearable - of nothingness. She would never get to see the beauty of that one extra rose. She would never experience the beauty of their last moment together.

Defeated, she turned back to the table and the empty chair which now seemed miles away from her. She gazed in to it with the hope that he would re-appear in his place and that it was all just a figment of her imagination. Words that should have been spoken were forming as droplets in her eyes. In desperate need to hide the flowing tears, she searched the table for a tissue, except, something else slipped into her hands.




A rose. A wilted, withered rose.