I Don't Like Roses
I have never liked roses.
Do not get me wrong, they are beautiful and come in all sorts of colours,
but there is something extremely... pristine about them.
There is something too beautiful, too nice.
I have always been more in favour of wildflowers,
flowers that look like they grow in a field,
or a forest,
or like smoke rising from a burning chimney,
I think I like the chaos more, the texture, the colour, the vivacity.
My favourite flowers are snowdrops.
I know they are nothing like wildflowers,
but still there is something about them that intrigues me.
It is precisely the fascination, the humbleness that I prefer.
I don't think they are necessarily the most beautiful flower,
but if I was a flower it would be this one.
The first time you got me flowers was Valentine's Day.
It was the day before my birthday,
I know it as the first time you broke my heart.
The bouquet consisted of an arrangement of all kinds of different purples and pinks.
It was sensual, romantic, sultry, with just hints of ingenuity,
a sort of amorphous shape that is hard to place,
but that somehow just fits completely,
like fire, and berries, and wood, and smoke, and honey.
I do not know how exactly you managed to do it,
especially with roses being the standard valentine's gift,
but what you gave me was a perfect reflection of everything I desired,
and everything I thought you wanted.
I never knew you liked roses.
I did not think you did.
It wasn't until I saw the wounds open up on your hands
that I realised what it took to get me those flowers.
And once it started it didn't stop,
so you bled and bled all over my precious, white snowdrops,
until each one of them was coated in red
just like the roses you so desperately wanted.
send me an email!