I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. Those vibrant and beautiful roses you brought home still sit on the counter where you placed them, but their life left them long ago. There’s a bed of dry and broken petals laying around the vase. The smell of the dying plant has become so familiar now, I don’t notice it anymore.

These flowers died with you. Getting rid of them somehow means getting rid of you. You looked at these flowers and saw their beauty. You held them in your hand and cut them free. You breathed in their sweet fragrance and tied them together with string. Throwing them away is like throwing away a piece of your existence.

These dead roses can’t speak, but they tell me all the time how much you loved me. So I will keep them as long as there is something to keep. I will remember a piece of you with every petal that falls. These roses may be dead, but my love for you will always be alive.