White Rosebud

Posted: October 9, 2005 in About Me, Fiction and Non-Fiction
Tags: ,

You said to me once that white roses means purity of intentions. I laughed at you then… I made a joke of your sentimentality. But that was before. Now I know what you mean… why you love the pale color of white.

I find it funny, even puzzling. I love red roses but you’d always insist on white ones. I’d often smile whenever I get to remember our arguments. It seems pretty foolish back then. Imagine a heated argument just because of a flower’s color…

I’d often laugh at you, and you’d explain. I’d pretend to listen as I pick the flowers that would catch my fancy. I’d arrange them just like you always wanted them to be… only, you’d react about the color. You only wanted white rosebuds. But I often include bright flowers in your vase.

I wanted to put color in your life. The way colorful flowers bring life to an empty corner. I wanted you to see life at its best but you only want to see white, the pale color of absence.

Absence… that’s what they meant. And the paleness of color is the same as your life. Yours is a life of no color, a life void of any emotion that paints one’s existence. Yours is a heart ignorant of love.

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