You become annoyed by a flash,
make a rude comment,
and go on with our day.
A wasted breath,
The pictures you hate are the ones I savor.

Let me tell you a little story.
A story of a girl named Rose.
She was my best friend.
The quiet girl with the kindest soul.
She never spoke in public but once we were alone she would never shut up.
She was the prettiest girl I have ever laid my eyes upon, the prettiest girl I have ever laid my hands on.
The prettiest girl I have ever loved.

When I met her, she was cliche.
She had stick straight red hair, glasses, freckles, skinny, and always had a book in her hand.

When she died she looked like death was her personal designer with a gay sidekick.

I could spend years describing this beautiful girl I called Rosie, but you would never be able to fully comprehend her beauty because I have no proof of the girl she once was.

A beautiful red rose.