you will come to realise that even the most beautiful flowers will wilt.
in three months rosa’s cheeks won’t be so rosy anymore and you’ll be standing over an urn watering the ashes in the hopes that your sister will grow back without the thorns.
she’ll leave them behind, buried in parts of your heart that you never even thought existed and it’ll sting so much you’ll be
screaming at family or rather
the people you’re supposed to call family
to not bring flowers to a flower’s funeral.
thought she could hide it behind her petals
but she couldn’t and that means
you should have watered the roses more. that’s what your mom will tell you for years to come, and she’s right because it was her fucking garden you walked right into and tainted with god knows what. because of you, she’s going to cut off her green thumb and bury it somewhere in the corner of the garden so it dies with the rest of