A long time ago, we strolled through a garden of roses in full bloom. They were each so beautiful and new to us, so many colors and varieties of flowers, that we found every single one a complete joy, a unique moment that existed only in the present.
Even if there were other spectators at the outer perimeter of this garden looking in, I didn't care. All of the roses belonged to us. Petals drifting around us, scattering at our bare feet. Ruffled by the wind, even your hair had the scent of roses.
There was no greater happiness than that warm, sunlit afternoon when we made the promise, a promise not to go searching for perfection. We had witnessed each others' faults, lining up in place before our eyes like puzzle pieces. Why try to jam them together where they didn't fit? There was no need to force anymore. We are who are we. Even though we don't often see it that way, our differences make us interesting and beautiful.
Each of your words wrapped around my tongue, leaving the flavor of bittersweet berry tea.
My purpose wasn't to fulfill anyone's expectations, not even yours. I simply wanted to live, turn my colors outward and unfurl. We both knew thorns existed somewhere beneath the gorgeous petals, but I simply chose not to touch them. Before I knew it, my thorns had fallen away, out of reach.