She looks around, spotting her.
She clasps her hand onto her mouth, trying to stop the flow of flowers.
Except my disease doesn't stop...until,
My love dies, my love loves me, or...I find a new love.
One would be heartbreaking, one would be impossible, and one...would be hard.
I just have to accept that I'll have flowers growing in me, and coming out of me, slowly killing me...
Until my end comes.
Because she won't ever love me...