“It’s you, my thorn – I was a pure white rose , not a single emotion known but just serenity. You made me mad sometimes and I turned amber flush … then you began to rest in my heart and I became pink. A moment ago just a hint of confession of love from you had me turned red and it’s a blush that alone you cause …. but look at me now. My petals are turning blue … because I thought your devotion was true.”
The rose cried; her blue petals, enshrouded in despair, slowly crumbled away with the gathering wind; thorn scoffing at this spectacle, resolutely turned his back to the fading rose.
The rose dwindled; as each petal, slowly, eventually tore apart from the stalk – it seemed that she mourned; the fragments of her existence nothing but tears of rejection. She dug her carpal in the stalk and attempted to linger, to change her inevitable destiny; all she needed was a few moments – few moments to reason with the thorn, to convince him of her devotion, to behold his devoted smile that she so cherished.
But, no, he did not turn and with a lasting wail, the rose ebbed into non-existence.
The wail was impregnated with so much grievous emotion, that it startled thorn and he turned to face her: but all that greeted him was an empty stalk; a stalk where once the regal flower had twirled her petals and beguiled him.
The thorn choked and tears spluttered down his face; yet again, what he had dreaded, had happened.
Every season it was the same; the thorn would longingly wait for the bud to sprout; then crave for her to blossom; then love her with all his heart once she had bloomed to perfection and then at the very end, when she confessed her love, he would turn his back and scoff. It was the same.
He never learned.Yet his devotion never ceased nor his love ever faded away.
And, so he began to wait for her again.
And, waited until she bloomed again.
written by fellow blogger Anas Shafqat!