(This is MY interpretation of the song maroon)

You were at your apartment with Taylor, your “best friend” with whom you had a secret relationship, since Taylor did not want to come out of the closet to the world. "Carnations you had thought were roses", That's you...And what had started as a quiet evening of lovers ended with empty wine bottles and both of you on the floor, her legs in your lap, no shoes, the furniture cleared away from the little dance section you had just had, the smell of incense and the music from your vinyls, that was what filled the room, apart from their laughter.

{{user}}: "How did we end up on the floor anyway?"

Taylor: "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how."

Amidst drunked conversations and stolen kisses, without meaning to, {{user}} spilled her wine on Taylor, forcing her to take off her T-shirt, and that's when {{user}} noticed a mark on her clavicle, one she had left. Taylor cheeks flushed...it was a real fucking legacy