Once upon a time,
A boy gave me a rose.
Its bright petals told me that he believed I could bloom,
Its thorns told me that he could never be mine.
I would always lie, “That is okay,”
Yet I clutched his flower close to my heart,
As I watched him walk away.
“I love you.”
The rose continued to grow.
It was beautiful, but what could I do?
This beauty was meant to be shared,
But with who?
I found a boy who looked nice.
He looked perfect for me.
He looked gentle.
So, I handed the rose to him,
And I whispered in his ear,
“You are the one.
Do you love me?”
With that, his fist gripped the head of the rose.
He crushed and
He shredded and
He let the mangled petals fall
All the way down…
…until the petals lighted into the hands of someone else.
Someone had broken their fall –
Someone who was at the bottom of the world,
Someone who could catch it all.
I watched as he rearranged the petals on the floor.
Had the rose always been red,
Or was this the blood from my core?
The answer didn’t matter,
Because what I was handed back,
Was something even more beautiful than before.
I was nervous,
I didn’t know what to say,
But he insisted, “That is okay.”
I took the rose and I clutched it to my heart,
While I watched him walk away.
I couldn’t let it end like this.
The boy who repaired what had been destroyed?
I couldn’t let him down.
I tore after him,
Kicking dust into the dark air.
When I reached him, I tapped his shoulder.
“Stay with me. This beauty is meant to share.”