Fruity.

And in his fury he threw the rose out the window.

Let to die, dry and in poor health. The rose weeped, and became black. Dying, but not dead, for the rose is timeless.

A fresh red rose was delivered, as always. This time it faced no rejection. Accepted and welcomed with opened fingers, the red rose found a home. Yet he was filled with worry for the black rose.

The black rose, in desperation, withdrew it’s thorns, in an attempt of sheer vanity, in hope of a new owner. It was picked up, overjoyed, the black rose was.

He went outside holding the red rose, yet seeking the black rose.

He would have taken the black rose back, if she had’nt expressed dejectedness and choosing to be with the new owner, if there was no chance she would be taken back. She took a risk, he took a risk.

She ran forward looking back. Maybe things would have changed if . if.

The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose–
But were always a rose.