He handed her a disguised curse
Something as beautiful and poignant as silk
But as harmful and sharp as a daggar
He told her it was picked from the garden
The garden that his mother tended
It fit in her grasp perfectly
Every notch of it hugged her fingers
It was a connection she never felt before
Suddenly so tight that it would not release
She fought to push it away and return it to him
But it wouldn’t leave her hand
He softly cupped his hands around hers
Transferring her stare to the jumble of hands
She was attracted to the beauty it brought
It’s soft delicate petals
She touched the petals one by one and shyly looked up at the boy She quickly glanced away from him
It curled around her hand like a constrictor
It tugged tighter and tighter as she met his gaze
He whispered to her, “for you my rose.”
He pivoted around
“My beautiful rose of ivy,” he snickered as he walked away
He left her there with the cursed gift
With the burden of the rose
And the harsh memory of the moment