The rose, withered

A few dull "bang" sound, fireworks wheezing into the night sky colorful burst, wanton spread in the dark, dazzling brilliant!

Her eyes reflected the sky blooming fireworks, sparkling.

After a long hesitation, my fingers finally pressed down the phone number on the screen and held it to my ear.

It's through.

A voice on the receiver said, "And you are?"

She looked out the floor-to-ceiling window at the fireworks exploding and responded with a red lip that rolled back and forth, "Happy New Year."

Voice gently fell down, startled stunned for a moment.

The voice on the phone said incredulously, "You, is this a yes?"

She did not answer directly, nor did she give him an accurate answer.

Just a "Here's my phone number."

When the words stopped, the phone hung up.

"The tickets are booked."

"HMM."

She was still looking out the window,

Fireworks are beautiful but fleeting.

The bouquet of roses on the table fell and withered.

She said the moon and the sun could not exist at the same time.

But on that day, when one was abroad and the other at home, the moon and the sun were together.

But, just for a while,

It was her farewell, her confession.

"The roses are blooming beautifully, do you see?"

The glow of the evening sun slanted on the rose ring he wore on his ring finger, golden.

And the other, in the rose that was lying in front of the gravestone.

The roses had been sent many times, but this time they could not reach her.