Drew sat on the grass, watching little droplets of snow fall around him. He watched as the green grass turned white, watched as the plants surrounding him was blanketed with snow, and watched as his love and her lover played in the snow with such joy, it made him sick.
The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. He could feel bile rise up his throat. Thinking of that name made him feel resentment, anger, hatred. He felt like turning him into his namesake. To burn him until he was a pile of ashes. Because he would never share the same close relationship he had with her. Never be the one she chose.
Oh, dear, sweet May.
Her name gave him a warm, pleasant feeling contrary to the previous. The sound of her name gave him squirming butterflies in his stomach. Her beautiful sapphire eyes made his heart leap with joy. He wanted nothing in the world but to be the one to hold her, to hug her, to comfort her, to kiss her, but he knew. They were never meant to be.
But that never stopped him from loving her. He offered her to become his lover once. And she rejected him, saying her heart was already stolen, taken by another.
He knew that she would never accepts him. So he resorted to watching her from the sidelines, watching as she just came closer and closer to him.
How he loved how she would always talk with so much energy, how her eyes were always brimming with bright happiness, how she would blow her hair out of her face when it got into her eye, and how she would hum that sweet sounding lullaby of hers before going to sleep.
In his hand he held a wilting rose, a rose that slowly turned brown as time passed by. He watched as the dark haired trainer had a snowball fight with his charming love, May. He watched as they started laughing, as they became quiet as the fell atop one another, and slowly closed the distance between their faces underneath the gentle moonlight as if they were a match made in heaven.
And the sad thing was that the new couple never heard the heavy sigh, never saw the green eyes that watched them with envy and sorrow, and never heard heard the soft plop of a scarlet rose falling to the ground.