I am tired. All my roses have died, but I remember their petals and essence along my body. I remember the color like I remember their memories. The sensation of their heat on my worn hands lingers over my violin strings. The glass that held cupid's love, is filled with lukewarm attentions and murky messages. So you see,I am tired of love that comes in the form of dying flowers. I cling to their form, seeking the eternal. I cling to their form lusting for the immortal.
How I miss these roses, those delicate petals, the ones that carcassed like fairies on my skin and danced like sin in my bathwater. While I desire the truth, for why my love in you inspires. I would much rather feel that you love yourself more than you love a woman like me. I’m that woman who smiles at flowers, and kisses the thorns away, bleeding in loyalty, treating that soul like royalty. I am the garden, I am your home, one day you’ll realize the tears that built this place were not created alone. The tears that built who I am, came from the memories of tired blood-red roses.
- Jade 🌹