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She reminded him of the scent of flowers after the falling of the rain. Though she kept herself hidden from his sight, he could imagine her face, as lovely as the flowers she so delicately touched. Approaching her would be out of the question, he would have to wait for the right moment. And wait he did, until, with the passing days, she began to fade away, like the petals of the dying roses he held in his hand. One by one, they dropped to the ground, dried and brittle. His flower would never again bloom for him. He’d simply let her wilt away.


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