Chapter 1

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This is a real short chapter HAHA :D hope you like it!

Mother is gone the next day, and all the days after that. Later I heard she died from a sudden and unexpected heard attack when she was at work. Her house is filled with death, white lilies are sent with stupid notes stuck hurriedly onto the stem; they arrive at her door, and stay there, the wilted pile of flowers getting bigger with each passing day.

While she was getting ready to go to hell, I wrote a song. 

That day, I sat under the rose bush, my guitar resting in my lap, regarding the change in the ocean surface, the swelling of the tide, rising, rising, then the crash, the downfall, carrying surfers, suntanned, over waves, cheering, as they searched for the thrill in the vast waters. 

Ever since I was a small child, I had lost myself in the midst of this rose bush, watching it watch me grow, year after year, as it repeated itself again and again. 

I loved the roses, but there was one in particular that always caught my eye. Its dark red coloring blotted with ink black dots, made it look vulnerable, its imperfection making it beautiful. 

Beneath the sunshine, under the rosebush that day, I wrote it a song. 

Dark skies, pink sunsets,

Everyday of your life

I could watch you stand around

Every night, waiting for the sun to go down

Pale moon, paradise 

Every night of your life

I remember you all alone

On you own, listening to the stars dying down

Whispers across the shadowed moon

Silver clouds raining tears around you now

Your dancing where the willows blow

Hanging down, a little too low 

Years passed, angel sings

Everyday of your life

She’d never missed a day

Oh that Fourth of July, fireworks dying down  

Whispers across the shadowed moon

Silver clouds raining tears around you now

Your dancing where the willows blow

Hanging down, a little too low 

Her Songs to a RoseWhere stories live. Discover now