I remember dancing in circles with you without our shoes on. And I remember how you didn’t know where to put your hands. I remember you smelling my hair, not thinking I knew what you were doing. And I remember you wiping your sweaty palms on your pants.
I remember gently moving your hands to the small of my back. And I remember laying my head on your shoulder and brushing my lips against your ear on purpose. I remember looking up at your eyes… wishing you would just kiss me already.
Do you remember how hard I kissed you at the end of that song?
I’ve never understood dancing in circles anyway…
I love you all,
A conduit of creativity shot straight through my heart, surged down my arm, electrified my fingers as I penned each word. I knew I was in touch with my deepest creative self, as if my muse was writing through me… encouraging me to blossom.
I kept making an effort to write day after day, struggling with my attitude and source of motivation. I continued to put off my writing goals, telling myself there’s always tomorrow, more chances to write. And then I saw her: a small, red rosebud on a miniature rose bush right outside the window in my morning room. She was striking; insistent that I take notice.
Through the cold of winter she still held on, speaking to me clearly through radiant, black cherry beauty. She must have arrived too late, missing her chance to bloom.
And she never will.
With gentle persuasion, her tiny thorns pierced my heart, urging me to persevere. That night I found myself writing with such a blissful quality; petals unfurling with ease, blossoming fully with creativity, the tiny rosebud by my side, a source of inspiration found right outside my window.
Her message? Live life to the fullest before it’s too late.
“We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if the sun has become disgusted with waiting.” Charles Bukowski
*originally published Jan. 2016