he was rage

and a burning


and a life force

of thick deep

velvet red.

he was everything

and nothing at all - ;


and dangerous,

but fragile

like a baby's soft breath.

he was a whisper

of fresh air

and the caress of

flower petals

falling like rain -


and beautiful.

he was the rays

of sun shining

upon your face

and the fresh

scent of a new bloom.

he was love

and friendship

and everything

in between.

he was everything,

but most of all,

he was the most

perfectly imperfect

scarlet rose.

a/n: from june '10 - so slightly old, but i found it in my collection and realized i never posted it up.