Roses Wither in Your Bones

Arika believed in love, but she did not expect to be naïve in the face of it. She was young when it began, eyes bright and lungs pure from what love will eventually awaken in her bones.

It began in her early days in university and he sat on a brightly colored chair with his long, dark hair gleaming under the 7:12 AM sunshine. He told stories of Greek poets and deities as if he was fortunate enough to witness these events transpire. Arika always wondered which deity was most likely using him as a disguise. His words were foreign and precise to the girls that gathered around him; girls who dispersed at her arrival because that meant he would walk with intent towards Arika. Within seconds, their attention would be on her, but when he spoke during mid-afternoon debates, everyone would wake and listen. She often stared at awe before it fades to the crevices of her repressions; she focused when it was her time to speak.

At nights she would forget and turn her attention to the pile of books and ideas requiring her passion. She knew that his attention is directed towards similar things, too. In the morning they would repeat – ensure best appearances to stir attention, speak with eloquence, and retire at midnight after seemingly useful pursuits.

Arika believed that they are extremely alike. In the few moments that she got to speak with him, she sees how the confusion emerged from the façade of determination and perfection. Vague successes fueled them like gasoline. They chased victory without knowing the cause of the battle. They raise their swords and smile at the thought of winning the game, whatever game that is.

In the confinement of her chambers, years would frequently flash - a terrifying whirlwind of what-ifs and why nots with the occasional what-now that threatened her heartbeat's constancy. Mornings used to be a lot more exciting than what she got used to. It was a blur how long it has been since she laid her eyes on him and the dark, slanted eyes that stared with such mischief.

Knock-knock.

Elandro called out her name without urgency, flat like the final notes of a disappointing orchestral performance. Arika's hands on the doorknob looked pale and lifeless. Her nails were painted red and it reminded her of Gabriel's fitting collared shirt. Staring at them, she wondered if Gabriel ever found her beautiful.

"What is it?" she asked as the heavily engraved door with knuckles clutched to white.

"I wanted to tell you about my day." Elandro gave a half-hearted smile and stepped in with a gray coat in hand. He has always been formal and unwavering in his intentions. This gave Arika immense discomfort every single time.

She led him to the warmly lit sala and they sat on the white leather couch for a vague amount of time before Elandro's masculine voice became incessant buzzing. Elandro used to be entertaining and lovable, but now she only stared at a man worn down by the world and stripped of his youth. Even at 21 he looked exhausted and felt exhausting. Their house was lifeless as well, though it stood brightly in the dark neighborhood. It was bright enough that if a friend were to peek from a window, they would think that a drop of sickening affection is still shared between them.

"That's all, I guess," he trailed. "Goodnight, Arika."

Arika pursed her lips and carved them into a soulless smile.

The thud of the metallic door was the nightly cue to resume her thoughts about him and how Elandro and everyone else pales in comparison to him. Behind closed doors, she would sing praises to his name – Gabriel. Despite her youth, she felt like years were lost to her passivity to Gabriel. Gabriel who she knew understood her, who she knew shared more than what any other man in the city could. His name continues to grow and blossom in her lungs until midnight and it has for quite some time.

Illusions are hard to battle, even harder to when they are threatened by treacherous memories. Illusions distort and bury memories deep beneath your heart, and so far under, that the memory is no longer his and yours, but only yours. Arika remembered someone say that love becomes selfish when it is no longer shared by both people. But debating her stance at this point is useless and hopeless.

Gabriel disappeared like their youth, torn away by circumstances of life. Arika was never sure if Gabriel ever hinted love at her, though Elandro's jealousies confirm it. Like roses in her lungs, she felt the moments grow and cloud her mind more than it did last night. She stiffened at the thought that there could be something between them. But seeds recklessly thrown and left to be wild are just as invisible as strings that tied them and the roses that will wither in despair.