THE WHITE ROSE PAINTED WITH BLOOD

xix - remembering the rain

{ roselin pov }

9:42 a.m.

slowly the world fills my head and my heart as i open my eyes slowly. the shadows in the room blur and dance before i steady myself to the world, before i anchor myself to the world. before i tell myself i have to be braver today, braver so i can survive the world.

your face fills my head slowly, like spilled winter watercolors and training my head until i can't think of anything else. the dead look in your eyes, your dreary eyes, blurry eyes, misty eyes. i wonder if you're sober now. i wonder if you're still downstairs on the couch where i'd left you last night.

i remember writing poetry together in the park, i remember kissing you on the rooftop that night, when i held your hand because you were afraid. i remember being on the ferris wheel with you. i'd once thought we'd be around forever. i thought i would have cried from happiness if you ever told me you loved me, but i didn't, because i think we always knew it so it felt as natural as breathing when you said so.

but i was fool. because we never loved each other more than the mere fantasies we held in our minds. because, we don't actually know anything about each other. because i don't know your favorite color and you don't know my family line.

sometimes home is a person.

bullshit. how could i lie like that?

because home can't be a person. because if home were a person, it'd be a home collapsing over itself. it'd be made of broken ribs and bitter hearts and minds too afraid to love, minds too brave to be vulnerable. because everyone is a lost town filled with lost versions of their old selves, wandering the streets while wiping their own tears away. wiping their own tears away. because home is supposed to wipe your tears away.

and i reminisced,

of those autumn days, falling days. in the park, in the cafe, with you. when even with your empty smile you'd laugh for me, as if you meant it. you were always so sociable with everyone, yet you chose to be with me.

and i reminisced, and i remembered. and i tried to leave it all behind, all in one morning.

but i couldn't. because i still love you. because i wasn't lying when i told you i'd wait for you. because i'm a fool. because i'm a liar. because i'm selfish, and i want you back already (but i know i can't, know i can't.)

and damn. i hate waiting, but i already miss being lonely with you.

🌙

the blankets on the couch are neatly folded where you'd left them. you left not a trace behind.

outside, the snow had stopped falling. leaving remnants of fallen wings from heaven, leaving only porcelain snow. it's as if the world had died.

i walk into the kitchen. there's a pan on the stove. strange.

small piece of paper on the empty, spotless counter. a forgotten counter. i flip it open,

there was not much in your fridge.
you should really take care of
yourself more.

— j.

i open the lid of the pan, warmth bleeds against my cold face. there are pancakes stacked into a small pile, warm golden brown tones staining the dreary morning with sweet serendipity. there's a bowl of strawberries and yogurt sitting next to it.

how long has it been since i last cooked?

i dip a spoon into the strawberries and yogurt, tasting it on the tip of my tongue. i swallow.