Pink Roses

            Pink roses, terribly cliché I know, yet I was raised the product of fairytales and princesses.  Beautiful princesses with hearts full of love, just waiting for someone to unlock all their potential.  They were smart, sometimes funny, risk takers, and compassionate beyond compare. Princes riding white horses or magic carpets would rescue these princesses, the princesses with wide eyes and the perfect hair.  If I could make myself one, I’d find my prince too.  I’d be safe and loved, and live my own happily ever after.  I believed that it could happen with all my heart.  Not only was a fairytale possible, but with the amount of faith I held in these stories, it was probable.

Then I grew into a cynical young woman.  Traditional roles between princess and prince blurred together.  The line between saved and savior became unclear.  I could no longer differentiate into which category I belonged.  I sensed with conviction that my prince was already within me and that my fairytale was to be written by my pen alone.   It is, perhaps, a more realistic view on the princess and the prince, yes, but such a lonely way to live. 

And then there were your pink roses.

You don’t know this.  How could you, for, I haven’t told you.  I haven’t told you because I don’t want to.  I am ashamed.  I am embarrassed to share this.  It seems so childish, such an inconsequential thing to be concerned about.  

            And it is.  I don’t worry that it means you are the same person.  I know that this is not the case.  You know parts of me I never let him see in six years.  You appreciate me, respect me, care for me.  And we’ve only just met. 

            You bought me the pink roses to impress me, to see a smile on my face.  He bought the pink roses to ask for forgiveness for cheating, to soften the blow of ending the relationship.  You bought the roses to tell me that you knew something about me, that you were interested in me.  He bought me the roses with my money.

            Yes, this is without a doubt nothing to be concerned about.  The roses say it all, and after all isn’t it true that a “rose by any other name would smell as sweet?”

            And here is what I am too frightened to tell you.  Here’s the big secret:   you share his name.

            Yes, you share his name, but you share nothing else.  Your hand holds mine to keep me close and to feel me physically near you, his to keep me from leaving and to keep me mentally trapped.  You laugh when I tell an inane joke.  He laughed when I stumbled.  You encourage, tell me to live a little dangerously.  Life can be about tjust rolling the dice.  He took risks that would put me in danger.

            Yes, you have both presented me with pink roses.  And yes, you share his name.  This is all you two share.  It is all you two will ever share.  You won’t even share me, as I am not the same girl I once was.

            I may or may not still believe in princesses and princes.  I want to, so desperately I want to.  And my hand is beginning to cramp from writing my fairytale.  It’s been too much writing by me, about me, waiting and wishing to be rescued.  The pages of my own tale are weathered, damaged.  But you think they’re beautiful.

            Staring at the pink roses, all I can do is smile.  Their bloom mimics my own as I type.  His roses were thrown in the trash.  Yours have been tenderly cared for.  Trimmed, freshly watered, and placed in a spot of honor in my room. 

            Yes, you share the pink roses and the name. 

            You didn’t know this before.  I didn’t want to tell you.  I know how unreasonable my agonizing over a name is.  What can I say?  That’s just a part of who I am.  Now that you know this, there is only one thing left to share.  And that is my fairytale.  Will it end with us scrawling “the end,” as we move towards a happily ever after, together?  I can’t pretend to know.  And I no longer need to.  For now, I’ll just keep putting pen to paper, and ask that you’ll write with me.   

Author's Note

this is a letter i wrote to the man who may or may not be prince charming...

Reviews

[sarah]

that is a very very nice letter

[Chris Smith Welshpoetcs]

Let's hope you have found your Prince Charming, remember there will be many frogs kissed to find your true Prince.

[Jeff]

I really like the new ending. I really like this whole story actually. I'll keep writing with you as long as you write with me.