Watering Dead Roses
Three vases worth of roses. I found them by the door, barely sheltered in the rain; I took them in to drain, then watered them again. They found homes in cups and coffee pots, catching lots and lots of petals and lots and lots of thorns. My room was torn apart to give them all the space for all the light. And for once, everything was bright. That silky red had managed to thread my thoughts together. I kept them on display during periods of good weather. As part of my routine, I made sure they were seen. Kept them fed watered happy pruned and clean. My efforts were not in vain. For all the times a thorn had caused me pain, we nipped it in the bud and carried on again. The scent was sweet; it soothed my nerves. The petals were soft; I loved their curves around my finger and the way their visage would linger as I drifted off to sleep. But the longer that they lived, the harder they were to ke