Confessions of nobody important

The Rose under the Dome

I was walking in the Mall one day and I stumbled upon a stand that was full of cryogenic roses. All colours, big, small, all beautiful with small labels that held their names and species. My attention went to a black one. 

 I looked at that rose and couldn't help but feel alike. For most of my life, I felt like that rose. Always there, never forgotten because someone had to wipe the dust off my little glass dome eventually. My father's position in our little patriarchal society always put me in the eyes of the public that consisted of the old ladies that gathered at church every Sunday and every other Holiday for the sermon that my father was conducting. It may not seem much to you, but in a country divided by politics and doubt, faith was one of the last things that kept and for the most part, still, keeps people together. Being the daughter of an Orthodox priest, I always had to be an example for other children, never really had friends, never really felt a connection. I was an only child, my cousins, either too old or too young to be friends with me. My best friends were the animals, either the pigs, the chickens, rabbits that my parents grew, the cats and dogs that I kept bringing home, or the cows, horses and other animals, that the neighbours kept growing and I did not have in my yard because space would not allow it. It is too complicated to explain life and childhood in a small village in Romania. It was never bad, I had fun times, made lots of memories, but could not help but feel like that rose at the Mall. I loathed my parents for the decisions they made for me, without asking, the decisions they still make sometimes, without asking, for still seeing me like that kid, never trusting me, never fully letting me grow up. And for a long time, even now, I do not want to fully grow up. Maybe because today, I look in the mirror and check for wrinkles, between the acne that decided to invade my face 15 years later or because I still look 6 years younger than am and act 20 years younger sometimes. So yes. I left for college, did a lot of stupid stuff, got my own apartment with the help of my parents, and lived alone for a while, in the city where I studied for my degree. I made a lot of mistakes, made a lot of friends and met a lot of people. I fell in love, fell out of love, hard, like, so hard I had to move to another city to get over him. Moved to another city, got a good job, got a roommate, moved to live alone, again; I was loved, hated, I am loved, hated, I think I loved, and love, I do not know, but I cannot help but feel like that rose. I will always feel like that rose in my mind. I may never be alone, but I will always be lonely, surrounded by other roses, under beautiful glass domes, always clean, always dusted, always admired from a distance, but never touched because I might break or my value might be ruined, always lonely. I pushed people away, I still do, maybe it is depression, maybe it is another disorder that I might think I have, trying to justify my sociopathic behaviour. But to compare me with that rose, it is easier, more poetic. I still feel like that rose. I wanted one, I wanted to buy one, but I stopped, not because I realised that it is a waste of money and my book, comic book, lego and hybrid cigarettes addictions do not allow me to buy any more stuff that I technically do not need, and will not pay rent or keep me fed or alive in a big city, but because it will be a constant reminder of my fucked up life. No matter what I do, who I meet, where I go, how many times I talk to someone about it, which I never do, I will always be that rose. Always looked at, admired for its unique beauty, but never truly understood, never truly loved, appreciated for the work that someone else supposedly put into creating it. For the brand or the family name, or the fact that at some point in time, I showed people a little light in times of darkness, even if my darkness always consumed me. I will always be that rose. I can always be surrounded by people, thousands, millions at the same time, but will always feel lonely. Always treasured but never understood, like that rose, whose glimpse of a lost soul still calls for me and brings my memories and my mind to that stand in the Mall, and many times, my steps also, because every time I go there, I always go to see the roses. It feels less lonely. I know I have a lot to live for, a lot more stupid things to do. I will keep searching for a reason, to not feel like that rose anymore, because I do want for the day to come, when I will wake up and not feel the calling to it, to the beautiful black cryogenic petals.