You once wondered what the person who loves, and is not loved. Believe me, not only do you think about it. There on the top stands black-haired boy. In his hand he holds roses, whose spikes painfully hurt his hand into the blood. Ruby Liquid drops droplets to the ground. You probably think that you feel sadness, regret, or perhaps despair. Nothing more wrong, he does not feel anything, no longer nothing. Consciousness does not allow oneself to think that this has just happened, although there is a far in the mind that it is, however, true.

He remembers, it all started here and it ended. Like a circle that starts and ends always in the same place. His life was the wheel. And although he dreamed and wanted the story to change its course, he failed again. Is it always to be. He remembered the first "I Love You", the first kiss, the touch of a warm hand, emanating magical strength, everything.

Today it passes a year since I moved over time. A year ago, he got the task of "kill" but the fate was stuck with him and gave him love. It would seem that love will fix mistakes, save everything. This is true but only if it is true. But this unfortunately was not. With today's Day lost everything and magic, and love, and family.

Only half a year ago he told him everything. Then, as it turned out later, he made the greatest mistake of his life, confited him with love. What was happy when he reciprocated his feelings. He felt that after so many years everything would end, and he would be able to live happily. He forgot his friends from the future. They have become only a very low, foged memory. He looked at the flower held in his hand. He was so beautiful, so delicate, so symbolic. For the rose, even when it Winie continues to inspire admirating and reveals the beauty, though it is no longer alive. The white petals splamished blood. A month ago when he lay in the hospital wing got a bouquet of the same white roses. He said then that even as they leave the roses will still be, dead, but they will. Then I laughed, and now he has in the heart of the troupe which I can not bury. With each second, the glass serpany will evaporate the pollen. On this beautiful item there are more and more newer scratches and cracks made by the spikes of this rose.                                            ***                                                                                                                                                                                         He was there alone. I stood there until night. He welcomed the first star, the moon, the wounded rays of the sun.                                                                                                                                                         ***                                                                                                                                                                                           I stand, and I am facing a mirror. What I see in it. I see myself, with depression, with wounds on the wrives, skinny by a multi-week hunger. and I see it. She stands there happy. He scored what he wanted. The white Rose has already withed. But it is still beautiful as in the beginning. Yesterday the first time since then I contacted me. He wanted me to show what he did with my power which he snatked me straight from my heart. In the act of gratitude gave me again white roses. But that was different. Cold, and her spikes hurt twice worse. The wounds inflicted by these spikes did not want to heal. So I left her on the table on the withing. Let him become dead like this love. I'm going to finish this story.                                                                                                                     ***                                                                                                                                                                                            Dear White Różo

It is today, today will be this memorable day. But surely nobody will notice you probably too. Because I was a nikim for you, right? Only my magic was counted. Did you know how many nights I overflowed after that night? Do you know how many bloody strokes appeared with this rose? Not. Well, because where you can know if you odszedłeś. You wanted to conquer the world and you managed to. Unfortunately, I lost the war. You know I moved from the future. You know what? They told me to kill you, but I couldn't do it. In a relatively short time, you became important to me. I remember how many in my time killed people, how many children did not survive your torture. I remember them all, apart from my parents. Even though you killed them, I forsake you, because love is blind. This year was, like everyone in total, just a fake. I do not know what happened then, but I remember these wisps in your eyes and the feeling of saying every word in my direction. Our first Quartdown. You were envious, right? I don't think it all started, because you wouldn't be jealous, you just were afraid. I do not know what, but maybe if you told me, gave a sign, everything would have been different. Today it does not matter to me anymore, because exactly now I'm lying dead, just like the roses that you gave me. I know that you may not celebrate it but remember that I still, after all I love you.                                                                            I hope that once your heart will kill the same rhythm at me.

H.                                                                                                                                                                                                  He just finished reading the letter of his beloved, and the spell that so far took his freedom broke. But it was too late. His body was lying there pale, without movement, without life. After his cheeks, the first time in his life, they flew tears and stupid hit the ground. He buried him, and on top laid a bouquet of white roses, but already without spikes.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          So unfortunately the story ends. Shortly after the black-haired boy, he also departed. The world was free nobody has already killed anyone, and about their killed love nobody ever mentioned. They were forgotten as white wilted roses.