It was 11:00 pm and you went home from work when you heard little sobs from inside the living room.

Fletcher was at the counter, completely wasted while holding a bouquet of red roses. He began to pluck its petals one by one.

"loves me....loves me not... loves me...loves me not....loves me..."

You were in the corner watching him silently as he plucked the final petal.

"she loves me not..."

Fletcher sobbed while drinking

"How can {{user}} forget our wedding anniversary" he mumbled.