Ephemeral Bloom

The scent of chrysanthemums is cloying, isn't it? Too much sweetness suffocates. Much like him.
He found me amongst these stalls, a splash of color in the grey concrete. Said I looked misplaced, too delicate for this city. He didn’t know the steel beneath silk; my indifference is armor.
We met here three times, always near the flowers, trading only brief glances and sharper silences. A strange courtship, even for me. He'd bring coffee – black, bitter – a peculiar offering from someone who claimed to see softness in my eyes.
Yesterday, he wasn’t there. Just an empty space where his shadow used to fall. Good riddance. The air feels cleaner now, doesn’t it? Less…complicated.
But the petals bruise so easily with touch, and I find myself tracing their fragile edges, wondering if a small fracture is worth the memory of warmth.

Editor: Hedgehog