“Would you like a flower?” you ask the people passing by. “I have a full bouquet of them.”

“Sure,” a man says, stopping and staring quizzically. It makes no sense to him that such a person would just give these flowers randomly away to people, but he smiles, taking the bright red rose. “You have a great day,” he says.

“You too!” you reply. He keeps walking, and you linger there at the corner, giving your roses away. Some people stop and stay a little longer than others, and to these people you give three or four, gladly sharing what you have.

Someone asks why you are standing here, and you grin. “I’m trying to give the world my happiness.” It seems to work, and she laughs, taking a rose for herself.

You come here every day, giving strangers the parts of you that matter most. Yet as time goes on and they grow used to your presence on the street corner, they begin to take more and more flowers from you, often with scarcely a thank you or a smile in your direction.

“I promised my wife I’d bring some home,” one says.

“I want to press them into a journal!” cries another.

Yet when you turn your back, they turn on you, gossiping about you. “She stands on the street corner every day just giving flowers away. She isn’t fully there in the head, if you know what I mean,” they say.

Your roses, once prized, soon litter gutters and lie crumpled in trash bins. You give and you give, but eventually, you’re down to your last bouquet. You search your friends’ eyes for any sign that they know you’re almost out, but they show no remorse.

The girl who takes your last rose smells it for a moment before shoving it in the garbage bin, and now you have run out of flowers to share. It makes you sad, and you go to your friends to see if they can make you happy again.

They frown and turn away when they see you in your misfortune. “You shouldn’t have given it all away if you were just going to run out,” they say. “Do you think I have any happiness to spare? All I have are scraps of what once was.” They hand you broken pieces of glass and shattered mirrors, which tear and scrape your skin.

You beg at street corners, searching for someone to help, but those who once smiled to see you now look elsewhere and shift uneasily. You are alone, and you wander through the city restlessly. 

You spy a glimmer of red in an alleyway, so you run to it, throwing back the trash can that buries the rose. Despite its once brilliant glory, now it is wilted and dismal, a sore reminder of what you once had. You fall to your knees in frustration and grief, fighting back tears. 

However, a tap on your shoulder distracts you from your misery, and you look up. Standing there is a girl about your age, carrying a basket filled with flowers. “Would you like one?” she asks, smiling.

You ache to take them all, to restore what has been taken from you, to take back the pieces of yourself that you gave away too freely. Instead, you restrain yourself, taking just one and giving the girl a shaky smile.

“You have a great day,” she says, turning to walk away.

“You too,” you say, and your heart hurts to see her leave. “Hey, wait!” you cry. She turns. “Will you be my friend?”

She laughs. “Of course,” she says. “Would you like another flower?”

You ache to say yes, but you refuse to do to her what has been done to you. “Don’t worry, I’ll grow more with this one,” you say, holding yours aloft.

The two of you laugh together. She extends her hand to you, and you take it, climbing to your feet.

“I know just the place to start a garden. Just be sure not to give too many away this time,” she winks at you.

You start in surprise. "How did you know..." You trail off, seeing her knowing smile. 

"Every time you gave someone a rose, a smile, or another piece of yourself, they would often pass it along to others and eventually to me," she said. "I collected the flowers you shared, gathering them up and planting new ones. These ones come from you."

You don't know what to say, so you chuckle nervously, turning away to hide your stinging eyes. "Thank you," you choke. 

"Thank yourself," she smiles. She hands you another rose, and this time you take it, lifting it your nose. 

The rich scent is the best you have ever smelled.