I gazed into your boring blues in your dorm, I thought about the time when I felt like I was in love with you. The time you asked me to be your girlfriend; we were eighteen. You waved those bright red roses your mother bought you in my face, and I swooned. The only time we went out, the movies. Half of my paycheck gone in one swipe. Maybe it was the salty butter scent that assaulted my nostrils, or maybe it was the hopeless romantic in me, that made me do it. I lay in your bed, now, at twenty. My eyes glazed over, as you played your video games. I realized that I was never in love with you. I closed my eyes, and I cried. The tears flew out my eyes. I could feel them tingle and start to swell. A sharp pain striked my gut, I felt the burning river coursing up stream. I vomited all over you, petals of bright red roses.