Violet Rose

Chapter 2

Our Sunday was the best Sunday I had had in a while. Our Sunday was amazing. First, Loryn and I stayed in bed for about another hour. But we definitely weren't sleeping...

Next, when Loryn finally tugged me out of bed, we went into the kitchen. Loryn put on a robe I lent her and started looking for ingredients - she wouldn't tell me what she was making though. She told me it was a "surprise", but that I would love it. Unless I was gluten free. I'm not gluten free, so I wasn't worried. I loved everything about this woman so far - I had no doubt that I would love her cooking too.

I watched Loryn pull together ingredients from my cabinets and put them out on the counter. She looked beautiful even with no makeup on, barefoot in the kitchen. I couldn't help but stare at her from across the counter. When she noticed me staring, she leaned over the counter and kissed me on the cheek. She told me to sit down, so I scooted onto one of the stools near the counter to watch her. She moved with the poised, swift, movements of someone who knew what they were doing, and it was fun to watch her in her element.

While I watched her, it occurred to me that I still didn't know what that drawing on one of my upper cabinets meant. Not that I was upset about it - it was a beautiful drawing, but I kinda wondered what it's significance was, or if it even had any. I wondered if Loryn remembered why it was there.

"Hey Loryn, just out of curiosity, I'm not upset or anything, I actually love it, but would you by any chance remember why there is a drawing of a rose on one of my upper cabinets?". I asked Loryn, hoping she knew the answer.

To my surprise, Loryn actually stopped mid-mix and came over to the counter where I was sitting.

"Of course Jessica. It's actually one of the only parts of last night I remember with complete accuracy - the rest is kind of a blur. Don't worry though, I still remember the sex being great, I just don't remember every little detail". We both laughed, and then she continued.

"I drew that last night. We were sitting on the counter - well, I was sitting on the counter and you were sitting on a stool and we were talking about past love, and how we had never really been satisfied. I don't just mean sexually - like more intellectually actually. You told me that nobody could ever REALLY understand you the same way you understood yourself and the world, and I told you I felt the same way. We talked about how our whole lives, we had known we were different from everybody else, and we had embraced it. We had embraced the good parts, and the consequences, one of them being that it was hard to find love". She paused for a moment, then said "I found a purple pen on the counter which got my gears turning. I picked up the pen and started messing with it, just passing it between my fingers and doing shit like that. Then after a short period of silence, you drunkenly said "You know you're really pretty. Like pretty like a rose".

"I cannot believe I said that" I stated, shaking my head.

"Well you did, and that got me thinking even more. I took the pen, and I started drawing a rose on the nearest surface I could find - which just so happened to be your cabinet. Sorry by the way".

"Don't worry about it, it's fine. Like I wouldn't do the same thing drunk" I said, waving my hand to signify it was absolutely fine.

"Anyway, I drew the rose and then I turned around. I still remember the exact words I said. I said to you:

"This rose is not normal. This rose is violet. It's a different color than all the other roses in the world, but that just makes it prettier. It's rare in a good way, the kind of rare you only get to experience once in your life. It's never tried to be red like the other roses - it already knows that's not possible. It's delicate, intricate, and beautiful, not just because of its petals, but because of its thorns too. It has thorns to protect itself from people who are just jealous of its diverse coloring, or people who just want the rose for show. Only someone who is capable of loving the rose can pick it. Few have dared, and most have not survived, for nobody else can understand; it is the only thing as ethereal on the outside as it is one the inside. You're like my violet rose, and I...I hope I'm yours."