LagAngel

dear elise, you will come to realise that even the most beautiful flowers will wilt. in three months rosa’s cheeks won’t be so rosy anymore and you’ll be standing over an urn watering the ashes in the hopes that your sister will grow back without the thorns. she’ll leave them behind, buried in parts of your heart that you never even thought existed and it’ll sting so much you’ll be screaming at family or rather the people you’re supposed to call family to not bring flowers to a flower’s funeral. your sister thought she could hide it behind her petals but she couldn’t and that means you