She had always kept flowers that were given to her. Something about their smell that lingered after the petals had taken their last breath and fallen to their inevitable peace comforted her. She especially loved orchids, as the dusty corsage resided on her nightstand, collecting dust from the months prior and the ribbon fraying at the ends.

I remember the night it was still in bloom and secured to her wrist, as it dangled over my shoulder while my hands gently held her waist. It had to have seen the hopeless gleam in my eye, as her pools of rich, chocolate brown locked with my orbs of olive green. I felt my breath hitch in my throat, as I had to control every solitary sense to not pull her lips to mine. The dim lights reflected off of the tinsel interlaced with the orchids and small pearls, diverting my attention for a moment. She quickly recaptured it, toying with the hair at the back of neck that had fallen out from the endless bobby pins.

In that moment, it seemed that the orchid on her wrist, tied to the hand that pulled my body closer to hers, would never wilt.