I was lying on my bed as my mother walked in and shuffled through my room. She had a garbage bag and she went around picking up the empty water bottles. She stopped at my desk. Staring at the sea of fresh dust and old souvenirs, she pointed at an upside-down glass bottle with a flower pinned inside it. I stared at it as well. She went to reach for it, dropping the garbage bag, as she knocked down my Totoro photo album.

It was around November when I first spotted the rose. I went to a crafts fair with an old friend and as we surfed through the expensive booths, we found a woman selling upside-down glass bottles. They each varied in size and had different flowers inside them. I found two with the same purple flower. The delicate curve of the flower’s stem reminded me of the rose from Beauty and the Beast. I bought both of them, saving one for myself and the other for my lover.

I waited until our first month to give it to him. I made him close his eyes and then I put the bottle to rest on his open palm, like I was setting a ship out to sea. I was an observer watching his reaction, watching the ship go towards its destination, not knowing if it would rain or if blue skies would lead the way. I remember video calling him a week after. His sister rushed into his room, jumped on his bed and her foot happened to kick the nightstand. He leaped for the bottle, catching it with his hand:

“You almost broke it!”
Jumping up from my bed and out of my thoughts, I watch the bottle roll after my mom picks the photo album up. Its curved edge reflects the light as it revolves. The flower still looks natural, at ease, at rest. Some petals have fallen out since the time that I had first bought it. But it is still as pure as I meant for it to be. Thoughts, instances, memories fly through my mind: I’m reminded of the macaron parlor, his favorite flavor, waiting at the bus stop at two in the morning, cold, freezing, our arms wrapped together and my hands in his pockets, the subtle wrinkles he had on his cheeks when he smiled, the little baby hairs growing out of the side of his forehead—but my hands are still. The bottle reaches the end of the table and falls. I watch it hit the ground with full force. I would’ve done anything to catch it; I don’t know why I let it shatter.