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The rose slips from my hand down to the silently waiting waters below. She openly accepts what comes knowing all too well that many have fallen to the same fate. The petals softly drift below, glimmering color barely visible. Once enfolded into the quiet softness, the beauty does not fade, it is just unseen. She caresses the single rose in a breathtaking way as to preserve every element it stands for. Gently holding it as a precious gift pulling downward to the darkest depths of time. Tears falling down, drop by drop, down upon the very place, now gone what had meant more than life itself to me. As they fall she accepts the saline drops into her manifest marking the moment as a done deal, irretrievable. No matter what unfolds in the coming moments, what is done is done, the cold of what occurred is.Was it of my choice to let go? No it was not, just a realization that at some point it had to be. Better to have let go the purity of the petals now, new and fresh lively with time, rather than having greedily held on to what would never be. Fading, turning, loosing the true essence of what reality was, than to cause a spoiled memory. I should have never placed such a moment in the chronicles of time creating a perfect sequence, only to carry a burden on the very time it represents. True bliss. Could
I have imagined a different flower than what was really there? Could
I have been holding a belladonna rather than what I saw as a beautiful
rose? |
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