If a Rose were named anything else it would simply be divine, something sent from the heavens to pleasure us, to enlighten us and to bring colour into an other wise dull and colourless world.
And I contemplate the Rose the most when I'm feeling depressed, its errie beauty seems to call to me in the night and I am helpless , caught in its scent and it throws me. I miss the rose.
How can the one symbol of true and complete love be such a crippling burden to me. Everytime I see them I ache inside and I reach out and try to touch the rose but instead I am met by thorns. These throns are the ones wrapped around my heart and they pierce. So cruel is the rose but then so gentle, so beautiful.
There are many roses but there are so few that speak to me as this one does. This rose is named Grace and everytime I'm near her the very scent of her drives through me, rips me open and exposes me to the whole world. Grace is my world I suppose, I live everything by her. I'd do anything for her, anything.
She enters the lift in the morning and I am stood behind her, her long blonde hair seems to hover just above the collar of the frock coat that so many fashionistas seem to drool over. She wears it well, no matter what she wears though its the very smell of her. Her scent drives me and I lean in closer in the cramped elevator and try to drink her in. Nobody notices and I could touch her, could reach out and place my hands in that beautiful hair and hold it above her neck and kiss her. if only I could.
She smells like roses, her favorite scent and I breathe it in once more as the elevator dings and I know, my heart wrenches. This is her floor, she steps off and doesn't look back and I don't know which hurts more, the thought that she doesnt notice me or the thought that she could never notice me.
I stand in the cornor of the lift, waiting with a few other drones as it descends a few floors yet above the smell of the B.O and bad aftershave I can smell that scent, that maddening scent of roses and when the ding of the elevator awakens me from my reveries of her and I almost cry as I walk into the small burrows of computers and desks but I take one more lungful of roses before I go.
I stride through the crowds of office workers, smarmy mavericks who could sell ice to a penguin and I take my seat at the usual desk noticing vaguely that someone has already switched it on and I slip into memories.
Walking the dog, the dog's name is Mephisto, a very large German Shepard I had purchased from a rescue centre close to my home. Mephisto and I were walking across the park, the grass was clean cut and I could smell the tang of it as it hit my nostrils and then I could smell more, I smelt roses and my mouth watered. She was there, Grace, with her female dog, another German Shepard, she called that dog Elena and she walked it everyday in this very park and everyday at the same time I took Mephisto and lead him on a Leather lead.
But today in my mind something is different and I head up to her, walking with a confidence that should have been beaten out of me along time ago. I smile a smile I have seen the smarmy mavericks at work smile everyday and I say. "Hallo!" In a voice that doesn't belong to me.
She looks up from Elena her mouth momentarily contorting into a perfect 'O' before she was able to stop it, after that she smiled, and it was as if the sun had come from behind clouds. It was life giving and I basked in it.
"I noticed you had a German Shepard as well so me and Mephisto had to come and say hi!"
I reach a hand out to the tan and black German Shepard pulling at the pink lead in her hand and she shreiks "No! She bi-" Before the dog was licking my hands and that smile was replaced with another 'O' of surprise as Elena happy to see me offered up licks to my outstretched fingers.
And why not? I had spent more then six months giving the dog treats and grooming her and visiting her until I was merely, one of the family.