Confessions of a Girl Who Hates Roses

By Anydinh

Someone once asked me, “Why do you hate roses? They’re not only beautiful but also a symbol of love.”

I just smiled faintly and replied, “I just do. Besides, their thorns hurt.”

But who would understand that I once loved roses dearly?

What happened in the past hurt me deeply. I was pierced by a thorn called love —shattered into pieces.

It was a pain like no other—betrayal, abandonment, lies.

I never understood what I did so wrong to be treated that way.

That day, he held a bouquet of bright red roses in his hands.

Awkwardly scratching his head, he shyly said, “Will you marry me?”

His words made my heart explode with joy.

I had waited so long to hear that.

I gently nodded and said, “Yes.”

I didn’t expect happiness to come so suddenly.

The bouquet looked so beautiful in my hands,

so beautiful that it sparked dreams in my heart—

dreams of us building a life together,

a warm, loving home.

But that happiness didn’t last.

I received news that he had passed away in an accident.

I had just accepted his proposal—

there was no time to even begin our joy before it was shattered.

My heart clenched in pain.

I wanted to cry, but no tears would come.

I was hollow, like a soulless shell.

I no longer even knew what pain felt like.

Time passed, and fate brought someone else into my life.

He gently filled the emptiness inside me.

My heart bloomed once again.

We built everything together, from nothing, to a life full of abundance.

Then one day, I saw him standing,

his hand in the hand of a beautiful woman.

She was stunning, radiant like the rose she held.

He looked at her so tenderly—

a tenderness I never once received.

At that moment, I realized maybe he never truly loved me.

Once again, I closed my heart.

No more daring to love or trust again.

Years passed.

I was no longer the dreamy girl of yesterday.

I had grown up and no longer believed in love.

But life, somehow, gave me yet another rose—with thorns.

As someone who’s been hurt before,

my heart was filled with suspicion,

scarred by betrayal.

And yet, I fell for him—

a man whose every word was a lie.

I knew I was being deceived,

yet I forgave him time after time.

They say, “Old habits die hard,” and they’re right.

He kept flirting, kept playing.

And I kept pretending not to see,

letting him fool me.

I was foolish, wasn’t I?

I still don’t understand why I did it.

My act finally reached its limit

when I read a message he sent another girl,

saying I was just “an ex.”

That word—ex—

shattered everything inside me.

I became afraid of love,

disgusted with anything related to it,

including that flower—

that cursed symbol of love.

—

P.S. I hate roses, but they make good tea.

When I wrote the first part of this, I actually cried—

it felt like I was writing about my own life.

(Just the first two parts though. After that, I got sleepy, kept yawning, and somehow still finished it.)

That last bit?

Tears from yawning, not crying. Seriously.

I wrote the end while dozing off in a car—

so forgive me if it gets weird. Just read the beginning and middle. The ending’s kind of delirious.