I woke. Eyes wide and bedsheets warm and cozy. I could smell the sweet bliss of fresh morning dew. My hand reaches off the bed onto the cold concrete to grab my phone. I received many birthday messages already. People I hadn't even met were wishing me a good birthday. Facebook connects people like that. I was overwhelmed, as anyone would be. Tear's filled my eye's as I remember the bliss of a birthday when I was turning 13 and not 26. A rose would always be brought to me by my beloved father. He'd tell me that the crimson red represented love. He always wanted me to feel loved on my birthday. I'd pick up the rose and smell the flower, it would always smell fresh and sweet. I missed that.

Later that day I took a walk to the florist down the street. The peeling sign made me feel vintage. Blue and purple surrounded the sky as the clouds slowly started to go to sleep. 'One rose please', I said with my throat just clearing. She handed me a single rose, beautiful and delicate. 'Careful of the thorns' She warned as I handed her the money in exchange for the flower. I pet the thorns gently. 'Don't worry', I explained 'they're my favourite part'.