Roses

You always loved secretly plucking them for me, didn’t you? Each and every time we met, either one of us had a rose, 91 roses in total. Different colours, for different days. Different colours, with different meanings for all of our different stories; stories that we built and burnt together.

Pink- Love gratitude and appreciation. A pink rose for every time you wanted to make me special. The day I actually dressed up just to look pretty for you, the day I had about a hundred mood swings, the day we danced together for the first time and the day you sang me to sleep.

Yellow- Friendship, joy and good health. Reminds me of how we always said, “best friends first, lovers later”. Every time I surprised you by landing up at your house and having lunch with your family. The day I came to meet you at home with your friends after your surgery and the day you introduced me at home.

White- Marriage, spirituality and appreciation. The day you got me a ring, and a white rose when we named our souls to each other’s. The day after you got cold feet after our commitment vows and your birthday, when I sent a white rose and a letter at midnight, telling you how grateful I was to have you in my life.

Red – Heart, love, romance and lips. A simple yet bold colour to represent the most beautiful and passionate things in life. Red always brought back beautiful memories too. Memories of love and blood. Red, our associate with our biggest fears. A red rose every Monday, a kiss every Saturday. A red rose for all the “anniversaries” and special days. A red rose for the day we first felt love and for the day you left.

Black- The 91th rose, dried and black, still lays on my bedside and haunts me every night. Black and ghastly, like the solitude you left me in. I still keep it there, admiring its horrific and beautiful parts, with hope that one day, you may come back. One day, you will.