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Rose

I drew back my curtains to let some of the dim morning light in. I didn't relish waking up, but really I needed to. The dim light seemed to brighten as I managed to get the curtains all the way open, casting delicate rays of sunshine onto my almost forgotten rose.

Valentine's Day had been a few days ago and I hadn't wanted to just dispose of the rose the same day, so I'd put it in a glass of water. I wasn't sure how long to keep it because while I enjoyed the sight of the deep red petals, I didn't want to keep it so long that it became like the rose in Beauty and the Beast, petals falling off one by one until some sort of curse is sealed forever. For now, I decided to keep it, but I wish I had positioned it a bit better. The rose had ended up with one side smashed against my eggy yellow wall so that now it flat on one side. But still, I wanted to keep the rose.

Having the rose in my window allowed me to imagine that I had some sort of grand romantic past that I could hold onto, although deep down I knew that was a fantasy. The rose was the kind that you always saw in romance movies or on romantic cards, so how else could I have gotten it if not from some passionate lover? The truth was that I had found it on the side of the road, still wrapped in plastic. I knew someone had probably dropped it or, in my dramatic mind's eye, thrown it down in anger or disgust or disappointment, but still it was Valentine's Day and I wanted a rose.

I briefly considered trying to find its original owner, but I realized how silly such a quest would be. So instead I just looked around to see if anyone nearby looked like they could've dropped it and I saw no one about who wasn't in a car or on a bike and they were gone too quickly for me to have caught them. And so, the rose became mine.

It's not that I lived in a fantasy world where I was pretending that a great love had gifted me the rose, but it was nice to have a symbol of love so tangible and close to me. Perhaps though, I thought, other people will see me with a rose and think that I do have an exciting love life. The thought made me smile. Then, no matter how I looked, people would think that I was loved in such a way as to deserve a long stemmed red rose. People wouldn't think that I was alone and unadored, they would maybe even see me in a different light. Maybe the beauty of the rose would reflect onto me somehow as I felt the beauty of the rose did upon my eggy yellow wall.

Even though I realized that the dream of the rose was just that, I still liked having it to look at throughout the day. It's nice to be reminded of the beauty of the life that you want, even if that life feels unattainable or, even sadder, is unattainable. With my newly sprung pimples and dark stretch marks, it seemed unlikely that I'd ever have the kind of love that gave me roses, but it was nice to dream. The only time I could remember getting roses was at prom and I'm pretty sure my date, a dear friend of mine, only got them because all of the guys in our group were getting roses for their dates, platonic or not. Regardless, it was nice to awaken to the sight of a beautiful red flower with delicate and dark green leaves, sheared of it's curved thorns, hit with the morning sun.

Perhaps for now, I thought as I gazed upon it, that was good enough.

(Prompt by Maria Nicolaisen)

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