I wasted my time watering a rose that will never bloom.
Every day I woke with the false hope that my dream will come true.
Every day I slept disappointed and heartbroken.
I've become addicted to tending to it even if it didn't want me to.
The rose withers.
Yet my dedication does not die.
This flower represents more than my hard work.
It has always represented my unachieved dreams and the beauty that life hid from me.
The flower becomes long dead but I remain in denial.
As a vacuum widens within my heart.
I continue to work and pray for a miracle.
Something died along with my rose.
A lot died along with my rose.
A miracle occurred - I uprooted the red corpse; destroying everything that I have ever idealized.
I look at the dried broken petal and I see everything that I've ever lost.
Yet I continue tending to it.
It now bathes in my tears.
YOU ARE READING
Blooming in the Sand
PoetryRoses are beautiful by default. So Rose buds are supposed to be full of enthusiasm and excitement for what's undoubtedly to come. Except, some aren't planted where they're supposed to be, and instead struggle desperately to manifest their beauty...
