The roses are RED
The candles flicker softly.
The fire crackles loudly, startling me.
The food is lukewarm.
The time is 5:30.
He should have been here half an hour ago.
The roses are BURNING
The candles are gone.
The flames lick the petals.
The food is cold and in the trash.
The time is 8:00.
Yet, there is only me and ash.
© Copyright 2016 Lidia Hernandez. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Fantasy
Poem / Poetry
Book / Young Adult
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