Rose

She sat in her tower, her blonde, porcelain beauty out of place in the black velvet night. A wistful sigh passed her lips, simultaneous with the tear escaping her lengthy lashes. She missed him, oh, how she longed for him to come back to her. Closing her eyes, she imagined him sweeping open the door to her tower, standing in the doorway, candlelight chasing across his handsome features. His uninterrupted masculinity always excited her upon his arrival. In her mind's eye, he faded to dust, a disappearing figure.

"I don't know if I can stand this again," the girl spoke to the night air. "He deserts me, leaving me here to pace..." She realised she demonstrated that very point as she spoke, and came to a halt before the open window. "Shall I ask where, when, what, as those questions I can answer, though all my heart asks is why?" Seemingly, there were too many perilous, unattractive answers to 'why', so she did not ask it of him, only of her empty room.

The rose lying on her bed had been a parting gift, to placate her in his temporary absence. Of course, he saw it as merely a rose, a cliched gift for any woman, from any man, for a multitude of purposes. She saw it's poinient symbolism; it showed her it's metaphor. "A rose grows, beautiful and miraculous-" she held the rose in the light, reflecting it off the curved petals "-in the plain, common dirt. It needs only raw materials to survive: water, sunshine, air."

"But as uncomplicated as they are, they have to work together to make it work; take away a single element, and the rose, the beauty, fails." It fell from her fingers as if swept from her grasp, nicking the pad of her fingertip with a thorn. Flicking her hand to dismiss the pain only sent a spray of blood across her satin skirts, dappling the white lace edging with a ruby red that matched her dress.

Though she truely missed him, it did have it's assets, she mused. Only when he had gone did she stop to think about the profound effect he had on her. Standing facing the window, gazing out across the leafy skyline, she recalled how he would softly cross the carpet to join her, his hands sliding gently upwards, without a sound. Only in his leave did she consider how much a simple touch could make her life, all of a sudden, joyous. His lips, barely a inch from the soft skin of her neck, could send an anticipating tremor through her before she even had chance to savour it.

She turned again to the rose, sweeping it from the wooden floor, considering that it, perhaps, was given with a different motive. Perhaps, he saw it as a beautiful gift for the one he deemed beautiful. Or, because he knew her romantic heart, knew she would be able to appreciate the affectionate tradition. Could she have misjudged the ache of lonliness, not daring to believe it mutual?

"Rose..." His voice, low so as not to startle her, caused her to involuntarily close her eyes with a smile. She turned just in time for his arms to slip around her, pulling her body to press fully against his. He breathed in her scent, at a loss for words to say how his heart overflowed with happiness just to have her back in his arms. All he could manage was, "I missed you."