The Rose

I rebel a little against the jaded counterpoint that exists now.  As Valentines Day is tomorrow, I think of the flowers I used to receive from my love, partner. husband.  I love roses, the smell, the elegant simplicity. Don't kill the messenger (dear rose) for the insidiousness of the giver. He used to give me a dozen roses every year we dated, until we got married and I was privy to the big credit card debt that they had created (therein lied the first clue of our differences in financial philosophies). But still, they are still pretty. A rose is a rose, you know? I pray for the diminishment of all the negative connotations that are linked to every little thing just because of the selfish actions of another. The creation of beauty (the beauty of nature: rose, a lake, a sunset), the end of a great workday (whereas how it used to be before?), the pleasant warmth from spending times with married friends (who may be rejoicing in having a baby or anniversary; hesitant looks passed towards us underscoring that feeling of "being different" within ourselves). Sometimes things just are: beautiful unto itself. And having said that: I look for that special gentleness too, from a sweetheart who will know the strength of that quiet and kind caress. Our knowledge and strength may lead us there more wisely (or not), but the beauty remains.