Poinsettia

The leaves: Dusty red and dusty green, curling on the sides, cluttering each other. The pot, simply plastic, hidden in a torn knot of colored foil haste.

He pressed it into her arms before he left for good.

"Moving!" He declared weeks ago, grinning. "Tallahassee."

Her best friend. Not more, though sometimes...a little more. Only when the saddest winds blew through her was he more.

She got a warm embrace, and a deep, pressing gaze which spoke, and a kiss on the cheek. Then, he was gone.

And now, she had this plant. It, too, was left. She watered it.