In the corner of her room, sat an untouched vase of roses. The roses, once vibrant, where now withered and brown. The petals where brittle under her fingers as they crumbled like forgotten promises. They where from him. She hadn’t thrown them away because, even in death, they had once held a reminder— of love that had faded, and words that never came.

Yet time to time, wondered if love, like roses, ever truly dies— or if it just withered away unnoticed.