“But you never give an explanation.”
I have never seen your cheeks bloom in such a way as the sunset kissed them. The tip of your nose polished in the same hue is shimmering as varnish spilled on it. And your eyes, I wonder how they turned into the lake of shining waters. Since when? Because the picture of them in the sheet recollections of mine was a milky way — not a pond of tears that nearly flooded.
“Because you never asked.”
Why do you look so sad? You’ve never looked so sad. As I could remember, sorrow didn’t have a place in you. You were built on laughter and joy and longing and all you could imagine in seventh heaven as you were truly born in early spring.
Only to forget that there was and is a complicated soul of woe within you. That part of you was still a boy.
“I thought you were my rose.”
“I am.” I never hesitated to answer. “I always am, my little prince. That’s why I asked you to leave.”
“You see, your rose, the only rose on the planet of yours is just the same as the hundred roses you’ve seen on earth. I was and am too prickly to be loved by such a sparky persona like yours.”
In the end, nothing could win over the ego of a shattered soul, none of us.
