Their Rose

Talisy
Jul 4, 2020
1 min read

But look, this one's late. But when it blooms, it will be the most beautiful of all. Just when the rose had thought it would wither and die. A simple drop of water fell from above and drew it's gaze back to the earth. It sat there as the soil absorbed it and drew it within, holding to give that delicate bloom, another chance to live. More droplets fell down, tears, rain and blood, the rose had taken bloom and turned it's gaze from the sky above and looked to the world around. One wanted the rose to have and hold as their own. The other wasn't sure. In the end the hands took her from the soil and carted her off. Would they keep her in the vase? Would they plant her in another place, or would they be holding on until the last petal fell? I've been like a rose so often. I've bloomed in adversity, I've been crushed underfoot. I've been left to wither away to be forgotten and yet I keep masochistically coming back. Would that a rose know how to say I love you and be understood?