“Oh, you are still a rosebud.”, she chuckled. “A beautiful rosebud.”, her friend added.

I was sitting by the water talking to two women. One was from Paris, and the other from Barcelona. They were both much older than me.

“Oh, you are still a rosebud.” she had told me, referring to my youth.

I can only imagine how they would have laughed if I had told them that just last month, on my birthday, I was worried that I had turned from a bud to a flower and had already started to wilt all in the past year.

Silly me.

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