Logolepsy

Caelum

Diminutive shavings of sunlight filter through the fossil-gray overcast and give the singular kitchen window a subtle white glow. Atop the pumpkin-colored wood framing its glass rests a small 12oz mug of water and inside outstretched two rose buds intertwined with the third rose, which has its array of fuchsia petals splaying wide like a sheet of silk. The outer petals had begun to curl inward and blacken, withering slowly as the days passed..... Just the same as I. If possibly moonlight had a scent, I could imagine that roses replicate it well. I could imagine walking the moon in the burning of non-existent colors in remembrance of spring day. I could be an astronaut with brush bristles painting every single galaxy upon the blankness of rose petals. Or I could be a god in the vacant eyes of absent minds that never dreamed. I could be the stars and the sun and the thorns. But sadly, I am only another face in the crowd, another note in the sound. I will never be anyone worthwhile, despite the dimensions in my soul and the otherworldly scope in my head.