Fragile

Heart broken.

The rose resting in her hand felt light as air, yet numbed her by its weight. She felt a calling to crush it, but saw how she'd destroy herself doing it. Her fingers started twitching shut, blood rushing faster and faster in anticipation of the suffering to come. As she grew closer to its petals, it's limbs, she trembled. The sunlight was no comfort, it never had been. She winced with each touch of its beauty, the bright red that represented all she was and all she knew. The blood that flowed out as she tightened her hand around it was relief. All that she had developed, all that she had taught herself, finally coming undone. Perhaps by pain, she could be free. She could restart. She felt the clouds blurring her thoughts as she stared at the clear sky. She was not the first, and she would not be the last. The dagger she was trying to release had a well known reputation, trust. She tightened her grip to feel the snaps, to hear the screams of the life as it left the rose. As she opened herself up to stare into the abyss of her palm, to stare into the aftermath, a tear was formed. Empty, except her own dark blood on the tips of her fingers. She was free, but something seemed to be wrong.

She saw her feet raise off the ground, a paradox that she was leaving home. She could not grow a new heart.