Too soon it fades and shrivels, leaving fragrant memories. I gather the dried petals into a sacred place and wait for a future rejuvenation fertilized by all this sin and pain and refuse. Now that I’ve embraced the sky and set my house on fire, your swords will never pierce so deep again. I have tasted the rose. She may be sleeping in her bottomless grave but I can still hear her dreaming, whispering my name in the night.
All seasons, perhaps, come to an end. I had a most beautiful experience at lunch today. Dining where Galen and I often ate. Listening to the radio and reading.
Song after song about our relationship, that we sang and listened to together, and songs that would have brought me to tears only days ago.
Nothing hurt. The rose prepares to break free from the winter and blossom forth with the life of Spring.
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