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A Rose

By tnmebd1, E. Setauket, NY

“Sophie, snap out of it.”
As I sat on the counter in Sophie’s enormous bathroom I thought of poor Sophie. She was sitting in her white marble bathtub with bubbles foaming all around her. She held her hand up next to her face so that the rose she was holding was touching her cheek. Her eyes were a soft red due to the tears streaming down her face.
“You love James, what's the problem?” It was the night before her wedding and she was falling apart. Not once had she ever said a bad word about James, and now she wouldn’t even look at the door where her wedding dress was hanging.
“The problem, Marissa,” she said, her face beautiful even in a scowl, “is that I don’t love James.” The rose shook with her hands.

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