I hated flowers, roses in particular. I thought flowers were a cliche, morbid gesture. Someone gifts you a remarkably beautiful phenomenon and you watch it slowly decay within a week. Maybe you try to salvage the memory by pressing petals between heavy textbooks filled with stories that will outlive even your own life, just to have something to hold on to once it dies. But one day I loved flowers, fresh on my bedside table the blossoms harmonizing with fluttering eyelids day in and day out.