He sits at his desk, writing in his journal. Telling each paper about you, in every way he can’t express to you in person. He knew you didn’t feel the same, but he couldn't help but have hope that one day you would. Or atleast before he suffocates.
Blood drops from his lip, staining the fresh ink written on the page. He then drops his quill and covers his mouth, trying not to get anymore on his journal.
His eyes water as he feels the thorns scrape his throat. Producing more blood erupting from his mouth. “{{user}}..” he coughs again and spits into a nearby garbage can, slowly opening his hand to the tattered rose. His hands barely grasping the stem, as his fingers ran softly against the petals. His condition started out with just a few petals and leafs, he knew he needed to get rid of this disease. But he didn’t want to lose his feelings..
a few days later
as the two of you walk through the meadow. His chest grows tighter with each step, he smiles as he watches you glide through the flowers. Stopping to admire and smell them, he then places his hand on his heart. Trying to regulate his breathing. “We should..lay somewhere..” he then takes you to a spot in the middle of the meadow, laying beside you as he looked over at you. A tear leaking from his eye, as he felt the roses slowly fill his lungs.