About a friend.

She sits there and watches her friend crumble up like a fast forward life span of a newly formed rose, slowly decaying and falling and snapping into itself. Her edges are brittle and all she wants to do is fix it but frets that any movements could break them. So she sits there, knowing she holds the moisture that could cure them, and knowing that it now would be too late. Watching, she just waits there, feeling useless as nature takes its course, taking note when the dried up flower falls upon their sun, and knowing all the while that the sun is at fault to why they fall so weak.