I remember how the roses looked that day. I’m not sure how many there were. Not even sure if they were all red. I’m sure some of them were my favourite (yellow). I remember the crackling cellophane around them and how they looked a couple of days later when friends came over. I remember sitting out on the balcony and sipping vodka and all of us getting wasted, one by one. I remember the empty bottle falling and someone screaming, look what you’ve done you drunk fool. I remember them leaving, staggering out one by one. I remember my head buzzing and my body feeling totally disconnected from my mind. I remember the old two-in-one on the windowsill, push rewind to play, forward to stop and pause to record. I remember doing the steps to Staying Alive while it was Stairway to Heaven that was actually playing. I remember thinking this is the happiest I’ve been, this is the happiest I could ever feel. I remember running around that single cluttered room that was our entire home. Falling on the soft cushions, feet in the air, nose on the teddy. I remember putting the roses away into that tiny terracotta pot, dried and discoloured but still whole. I remember thinking I would always keep them, that this is where they would always remain. I remember thinking that with my luck everything else would change, only the roses would remain.
I know where the roses are. They’re still in the same place I put them. And everything else... I know where that is too. It’s also in the same place. We just can't get to it anymore.