There is a rose outside my window that I ignore. It’s big, wide face looks in and smiles but I turn away.

Still, she sways back and forth, knocking on my window. “Look at me! Look at me,” she says. Her petals are flushed a bright pink. She is cheerful and loving, but I ignore her because I know that soon she will be gone anyway. Her petals will brown, one by one, then fall off. The gardeners will come by too and cut off her stem, trim down her bush.

I do not waste my smile on things that die.

I do not smile often.

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