Breathless

Chapter 4: Beautiful Words - March 25 - 31

She carried that third precious bloom inside to bury its thirsty stem beneath the crystal water. It joined its compatriots in saluting the bright sun beaming down upon them in her windowsill. She smiled as she reached out to brush the pad of her thumb along one velvet petal. Was there anything more comforting than the touch of a rose?

How had he known that such a present would lend her peace? That it was, in fact, the one item in all the world that released the comforting memories of her childhood?

—

With eagerness, she opened her door the next morning. And looked for her rose. She had awoken to sunlight streaming through her shades.

And she had smiled.

She had welcomed that pale glory. Its cheerful rays seemed to dance within her heart today. She had something to look forward to. Her admirer had surely left her another beautiful bloom. Someone was watching over her. Somebody was seeking to delight her soul.

He didn't fail her today. Yet another ruby bloom greeted her as she opened her door. How had he known that the red ones were her favorites? Nothing spoke of love and passion more than a red rose.

Passion?

Goodness!  Where had such a thought come from?

Who on earth would feel a grand passion for her? Surely, she wasn't worthy of such a towering emotion. Her ex certainly hadn't believed she was. She sighed.

Then she descended the steps to bend and retrieve her simple gift. She couldn't remember the last time she'd received a present. He'd bought her an engagement ring. But he had never been a big gift giver. He had preferred to spend his money on himself.

Yet somebody believed in gift giving. That kind someone had now left her four flowers. All resplendent red roses.

She smiled as she headed inside to give her bloom a much-needed drink.

—

She arose earlier each morning over the next few days in an effort to catch her admirer in the act of leaving the roses on the ground in front of her house. But every day, she was too late. It was as though he had anticipated her thoughts and planned accordingly to evade her notice. No matter. He was still leaving her a red rose each day.

And each evening, she was basking in the renewed delight of sailing through the air on her swing. She would curl up in the corner and cast a blanket over her lap, a book in her hands, her eyes devouring the words, as her swing slipped past the evening breeze. She was beginning to feel free again.

—

Her admirer was growing bolder. This morning, the eighth day since she'd first found a rose on her sidewalk, as she opened the door, she discovered her pretty bloom lying at the very edge of her porch above the top step.

She was growing bolder too. She had decided to go out tonight. Since she had no friends, she would venture out on her own. To dinner. And perhaps a movie. She was going to treat herself. Like the queen she was.

Why had she allowed him to steal her self-worth for so long? To convince her that she had nothing to live for now that he was gone? That she hadn't been worthy of his devotion?

Lies.

They were all lies.

That man didn't determine her self-worth. She was a beautiful, brilliant, sweet woman. It was his loss that he'd left her. Not hers. She didn't need his attention to prove that she was priceless.

She was born for love. It wasn't her fault that he'd been unable – or unwilling – to receive her affection.

Goodness! Where had she suddenly discovered such a fount of confidence? It must have been the poem that had triggered its release.

On the porch next to her rose, she'd found a slip of ivory paper. It had been cut into the shape of a heart. A crimson pen – a calligraphy one, if she wasn't mistaken – had made the bold strokes upon the page. Each letter had been painstakingly – and beautifully – formed by a steady hand. But it was the words themselves that sketched a smile across her countenance now as she recalled them.

"Good morning, beautiful rose.

Lift your lovely face to the kind sun;

Tell it all your wicked woes,

Every single, heartbroken one.

"You're too captivating to drown in pain.

Don't be anticipating more heartache.

Don't wallow in any sorrow or strain.

Run free, my dear, flee from your old heartbreak.

"You were meant for days under the sun.

Kinder, simpler ways than what's been done.

You were born for love's gentle embrace.

To see devotion in your lover's face.

"Could I perhaps be the blessed one

To open your eyes to a new joy?

Could we call the weary past now done?

Have you room in your heart for this boy?"

As she had first read the words, her heart had expanded with longing. And questions. So many questions had flooded her mind.

Who was he? How did he know she was still recovering from a broken heart? Why did he find her fascinating? Why had he chosen her? And why wouldn't he show himself?

But then, an odd exhilaration had flooded her being. Someone thought she was beautiful! Somebody found her captivating. Some special man had found her worthy. He was clearly pursuing her. Seeking to woo her.

She found herself smiling. When she'd seen his pen strokes, she'd been sure he was a man even before he'd admitted it. He had a beautiful hand, but surely it was a masculine one. Those crimson marks had unleashed tremors in her soul. A yearning for things she'd left buried long ago.

Her ex had never had any use for poetry or sweet words of any kind. There had been little beauty in his soul. As she had discovered over the course of many years. Why had she ever thought she was in love with him? How did he have the power to break her heart still?

Yet the words on this paper and the blooms in her vase had caused something else to sprout upwards in her heart. A green shoot was spiraling towards the rays of the sun. Almost as though she was beginning to believe in its goodness again.