Rose

When I was nine

I met a boy in a white shirt. He stood in the rain without regard for himself, bending slightly to shelter a cluster of purple roses in the corner. His brows were like distant mountain peaks, and he was gentle and handsome. From then on, I spent fourteen years following him.

I thought that once we were together, I could be happy just by staying quietly at his side, living out a lifetime of mutual respect. But I couldn't endure his schemes and coercion, or the tenderness and care he showed someone else. So I let him go and gave him back his freedom. After the divorce, that man went completely mad...