Life as an Extreme Sport

By Any Other Name

Glancing over to the countertop, I noticed it but said nothing. Then I noticed it again, and then I began to feel bad for it. Laying there, it should have at least been in water – it looked pretty, and someone, probably S~ had cared enough to buy it for him.

“Shouldn’t you put that in water?” I asked.

“What? Oh, oh damn! I meant to have that set up, in a vase, for you. It’s for you.”

“Wha…” I walked around him and picked up the rose. Two toned, the outside of the petals were a creamy white, the inside a blush burgundy. Wrapped in slightly blue babysbreath, it smelled heavenly.

In over four years of knowing each other, this was only the third time Mars had ever given me flowers. I stood in his kitchen, rose in hand, arms around him, crying into his shoulder.