brittle

Dried up and withered. That’s all I think of when I see dead flowers. Nothing of the beauty they once were. Nothing of the feelings that came when they were received. Just death. Because everything dies.

No matter how many times someone says forever, it doesn’t make it true. Eventually she’ll start thinking of that guy she met at the club and he’ll wonder about his friend’s sister. But they might still keep up the appearance that forever is still there, but they know. If nothing ever becomes of the new guy or of the sister’s friend, there will be something. He’ll become controlling, she’ll be bitchy. They will work hard to drive each other apart. Harder than they’ll work to stay together. And that’s enough.

Then it will end.