Blame it on the effects of my undying love for Mills&Boons or my estrogen drives. Either way, I'm a rose person. And not just any rose, I'm a red rose person.
Rose. What image does it form in your mind when you say that word and close your eyes?
A proposal? A vintage photo of a yesteryear actress with an unrealistically large rose blooming out of her bun? An expression of appreciation? A token of love? Or Kate Winslet in Titanic?
It all rounds up to the same thing. Love. Symbolism.
When I was a kid, we were taught this in school- "Red stands for love."
I was overwhelmed by the idea of it.
Since then, I associate Rose with a certain Prince Charming in an armor, riding a White Horse and tucking a Red Rose in the loose knot of my cascading hair and saying, "Be Mine."
Rather dramatic, isn't it?
Rather dramatic, isn't it?
But then again, what is this life without a bit of drama every now and then?
Look around you. All smiles, yes.
Look deeper.
Infidelity. Lies. Treachery. Betrayal. It's like someone took a handful of devil-dust and sprinkled it over the planet. The widest of smiles will have strained wrinkles underneath their eyes.
Am I a pessimist? Nope.
I'm testing new waters with Realism. And let me tell you something about realism- it sucks.
But then again, I'm also a dreamer. A sincere one at that.
I believe in happy endings and in an eternity called forever. I don't need to see it to believe it.
I believe in my Prince Charming who will trot away into the sunset with me. I don't need proof for his existence. I know he's out there, somewhere.
I believe that if there's devil-dust, there's also fairy-dust in the rainbow of life.
That if there can be perfect beginnings, they can last long enough to be called perfect endings.
I believe that as long as the roses are red and blooming, there's room for happiness to find its way to the ending.
If you can keep your Rose from withering away, you can have your happy ending.
Save me a petal, won't you?
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