Quarter to 12, midnight, she sits in her room-under her bedroom light.
A rose-pink rose, in an empty bottle of Snapple used as a vase placed
on top of the plastic drawers by her right side, blooms. Fascinated
by such flowers, she stared at the blossoming beauty while thinking of her fantasy.
A sudden thought hit her, some-thing about her rose, her fantasy, and reality.
A rose-pink colored rose flourishing in her bed room… long stemmed,
beautifully-distributed-leaves, and the sides of its outer petals attractively
bowing,. The mere sight of it, its posture, its color, and its faint scent,
are simply… breath-taking; almost magical.
Enchantment… magic… had it fermented her room? She wondered. Could it be that
this rose, while in its days of beauty, was meant to be with her to comfort her
misery? To ease the pain in her heart brought about by what seemed-like
"magical" moments?
"Magical" moments of her past incorporated with thoughts she thinks
should have been, or could have been. The things which composed her fantasy,
her own world-sometimes of princes and princesses, sorcerers, dragons, knights,
and castles from far away lands or other exotic world.
She sat there bewildered by the rose, which momentarily takes her mind off her
pain... her past days shared with this boy… the boy who took the role of the
prince/the knight in many of her fantasies… her illusions… those days…
those days are just like the rose. In its time of blooming, it was breathtaking,
enchanting, and picturesque! Yet in time, it withers… attractive petals begin
to fall one by one; the leaves dries up; the flower bows humbly as if tired of
showing its beauty.
All these happens, happened, and the beauty of the once enchanting rose can
only be lived in the memory of those who had it, those who experienced it,
those who got hold of it-the enchanting, and breathtaking rose some call "Love."
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