“I’m allergic“ I exclaimed. The big smile on his face turned into blues. Oh I’m such a horrible person to do this. Maybe I should just tell him the truth. Its not your fault. Please dont be sad. He doesn’t know that my allergy is not medical but psychological. I’m not physically allergic to roses, they just remind of the time I was physical abused by someone before you. They remind me of those abominable months of a ‘relationship’ that I had. It was why it was hard for me to open up to you. You are not him, I should tell you but it would just make things worse. Just try to understand, I don want you to go through what I experienced, because I know you feel every bit of my emotion, perhaps thats why you are puzzled and wistful for bringing me roses and on the way to throw them. Please don’t. “Don’t!” I said, “Its ok, We’ll put them in the corner of the living room, don’t throw them out.”
Here’s my flabby attempt at writing a short story, describing a scene that popped into my head while I was listening to Loved Me Back to Life by Celine Dion.