the roses had turned black in the vase, the color drained as if a floral vampire had feasted upon the red in the night, the heavy blooms had hung over the side and shed little black petals upon the table, a string of she loves me, she loves me not to decay in the annals of time

a coating of dust covered the room, swirling in the thin slivers of light streaming through the blinds, a whirling storm of discarded epidermis like a paisley pattern vivisected by a mad genius, spirals and whorls like a liquid fingerprint in the air

the rains were coming down, heavy droplets that seemed to echo with every splat into the metal grill lid, rivulets running down the glass as the sun seemed unaware that the clear skies could still spit down upon the unwitting land below

in the south they refer to this unique meteorlogical event as the devil beating his wife, a sunshower that tries to ruin the perfection of a sunny day in the devil’s anger at beauty and stillness

as if the last to know there was a storm brewing the sky slowly darkened, like the petals of the roses in the vase, and the sunshine stopped illuminating the dance of skin cells and dirt in the air as the vents stopped blowing to combat the oppressive heat, sated for a moment at having reached the optimal temperature

he stood watching the graying sky, his first excursion from his bed in days, staring at the whithered declaration of a last ditch attempt at saving love, a petal fell as he stood, an undeniable message from the fates that truly she loves him not

he couldn’t bring himself to throw the dead things away, to rinse the vase and put it in a cupboard, to dust the tomblike room and make it a place of life again, the sound of raindrops and heaviness the humidity brings weighing immensely on his stooped shoulders already weighted down with grief and loss

no, reasserting his presence upon the land of the living would have to wait until the gloomy reminders of death faded from his mind and heart, days from now perhaps, weeks if he let it plant root and wrap it’s vines deeper and deeper into the rich black soil of despair, a plot his mind constantly tilled and worked, every breath a new seed planted

he watched the rain for a long moment, until it finally spat the last dwindling drops and the fast moving clouds swept along to water another region, to dampen the earth with an instance of hope, one the freshly revitalized sun peeking out baked away, his feet moved of their own accord back down the hallway, to his bed, his hideout, a place to swim in the filth of memories oily grasp and fade away

as he shut the door and let depression sweep over him another petal dropped and fell to the table unseen and uncategorized, there would be other roses, other love me nots to fall with no trace, but for now he was lost in this one even as the box truck delivered fresh blossoms to be put on display for another fool to purchase