This morning, I noticed this rose. One of three. Of the others, one was big and robust with peachy petals still turned in, and one was cherry red in color, dainty, content in drinking its life water. I removed them from the cream pitcher to leave this single flower that stood out to me.
I’d like to give her a chance to bloom. I don’t know why she hasn’t, except that I cut her away from her original source of nourishment.
It wasn’t her fault.
She would’ve been able to open up and become more. She would’ve been able to bless more people, much longer with her stunning beauty and pleasing colors. There must be two dozen of her friends still thriving from the same source and soil. They are dancing in the wind as I type this.
But now I fear it’s too late for this one. We won’t get to witness the potential she beheld.
She is gorgeous. Her smile fascinates. Her eyes shimmer.
Her soul thirsts for sustenance. Her spirit, for significance. Her memory, for honor.
Her name is Kelsey Emily.
Diary of an Incurable Fanatic 