Wilted Roses

Love gives you light. Love gives you pain.

Love lost is a pity. Love is given, not gained.

A broken heart is a clock that has stopped.

Sadness overwhelming, until a savior comes

The smell of wilting roses overwhelmed the room.
It made my head swirl in nausea.
The curtains were drawn, casting the room into a dark shadow.

"My goodness," a voiced breathed out beside me, "when had it gotten this terrible?"

I could just barely shake my head. Trying to take a breath, I ended up choking on the stench of rotting flowers, leaving me to force the words out, "I don't know. I don't know."

I decided to take a few steps forward, stepping delicately, as if I were maneuvering my way through a mine field. The plush carpet, once a vibrant blood red, was now the color or a sickly purple. Dried and withered leaves were scattered across the ground, crinkling into sand with only the slightest pressure.

The lump under the covers gave a nearly inaudible groan, and quivered a bit.

I made my way to the lump in the bed, shakily placing a hand on what I assumed was the shoulder. 

"You can't stay like this forever, dear," I murmured. This was unhealthy. Oh so dreadfully unhealthy. And all for the sake of romance. How pitiful.

The bundle of sticky, sweat stained covers shifted, before knocking my hand gently off, and sitting upright. 

The human under it croaked out in a raspy voice, "I can if I want to."

They promptly flopped back onto the bed.

Sighing, I pulled the sheets off of the body, and began to clean up the room.

"It's been several weeks since you've last left the room. It's been several months since you left the house too. It's been far too long for you to still me lamenting, love."

Another grumble of disagreement.

Walking over to the mahogany curtains, I swiftly pulled them up and tied them back, letting piercingly bright white sunlight beam into the room. 

A sound of weak protest could be heard from the bed as they complained about the brightness.

I simply tossed the dead roses out the window, and began picking the dried leaves.

Hearing a slight giggle from the doorway behind me, I turned my head to see my lady-in-waiting covering her mouth delicately. 

"I'll leave you two be, milady," she stated, giving me a small curtsy before gracefully floating out of the royal chamber.

Shaking my head and sighing once again, this time in exasperation, I went back to sweeping away the dull cloud of grief and pain out of the room, all while ignoring the continuous complaints from the bed. 

Humming a cheerful tune to myself, I began to adorn a smile myself.

It really had been too long. But not any longer.

Because love takes two people.

One won't withhold.

But there are many kinds of love.

Which, for healing, might just do.