I was walking to work today and had to stop and take a quick snap with the camera on my phone. It was just one of those incidental images that catches your eye. I just wish that I had my proper camera with me. But I looked at this trampled rose on the morning after Valentine’s Day, and I wondered what was the story behind it. Was it dropped in an absent-minded moment of revelry from the overfilled arms of a woman wrestling with a huge bouquet? Was it dropped by one of those rose salesman walking in and out of restaurants trying to make a buck last night? Or was it thrown to the ground after a spat that ensued after a couple stayed out too late, drank too much and the slightest offence took on an outsized importance.

I don’t know, but it looked so forlorn, trampled on the pavement like that. Sorry if this sounds a bit like a glass half empty. I blame it on This American Life and the episode about Star Crossed Love that I was listening to this morning on my way into work.

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