Expressionless Child

Those were the petals dried and dead from the rose she gave me the first time she told me I was beautiful and truly meant it. I kept the rose on my windowsill by my bed and watched the silver moonlight illuminate it every night. The flower lost its smell of the perfect perfume and its colors faded until the petals fell to the dresser where I left them to be claimed along with my guilt.

When she had brought me the rose it was tiny, just past budding; a new rose to face the cruel world. I heard her footsteps treading down the hallway to my bedroom. She brought with her a simple but extravagant yellow bud with rosy trimmings. Then she said, “Here, this is for you.” Why would she do that, she’d never done anything nice before? Thoughts rang through my head what is she up too, does she want something from me. “Why?” “Because when I saw this rose in the garden, I thought I should compare it to you…. I was right, it’s just a weed.”

Utter silence passed between us for a moment and I felt tears of peace and then tears of angel dwell in my eyes threatening to escape confinement. I told her to stop sucking up to me, so she simple left leaving me a bitter taste in my mouth from such putrid words.

I sat on my bed looking at the tiny bud in my palms trying to find any resemblance from me to it. We both had thorns… that’s all I fount.