I haven’t written here in a long time. Part of it is Pandemic syndrome; part of it is heartbreak.
“You complain about seeing thorny rose bushes; me, I rejoice and give thanks to the gods that thorns have roses.”– Alphonse Karr, 1853
I still believe in love. I believe in it in the same way I believe blood courses through my veins, even though I can’t feel it flowing. I believe in love because I know it is love that nurtures me. Love, in its many iterations, is what sustains growth.
I still believe in soulmates, albeit differently. I read once that at any given point in time, it is possible we have yet to meet everyone who will love us deeply in our lives. It is hard however to let go of what once was a great love…but at least when we felt it we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were alive.
Well, the prick of a thorn can feel like death when you’re used to bathing in the rose’s petals. Grown accustomed to their sweet, airy scent. Their caress of smooth silk. But ain’t thorns a part of the rose, too? Ain’t part of the rose’s allure the fact that the thorns can, indeed, draw blood if you squeeze too tight? Rub it the wrong way?
And well, I still believe in rose petals. They redeem us from the war of the thorns.
Shower me in rose petals with gentle hands and I’ll shower you just the same.
For I still believe in love.