The Rose

The Rose

I feel the warm water run down my body as I gently massage the shampoo suds along my scalp. As I wash myself, I hum along to the music in the background, softly singing. The music is faint, with the sound of the running water overpowering it, yet I know the words so well that I could hear them over anything. As I sing along, I absorb the powerful lyrics, and tears trickle down my face. They mix with the soapy water, and slide down my body as the music eases its way through me.

Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed
Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed
Some say love, it is a hunger an endless aching need
I say love, it is a flower and you, it's only seed

Her voice is so inspiring, her words so hopeful.  She understands love’s danger.  Yet she sees beyond it, she sees the sparkle, and all that it’s worth.  The song continues as my body tightens.    

It's the heart, afraid of breaking that never learns to dance
It's the dream, afraid of waking that never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give
And the soul, afraid of dying that never learns to live

I listen to the words, the urgent need to give it all, to let the fear be lifted from me, fading into the clouds, disappearing forever. I want to feel, experience, live. 

When the night has been too lonely and the road has been too long
And you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter far beneath the winter snow
Lies the seed that with the sun's love, in the spring becomes the rose

These simple words, these soft metaphors, they caress me.  I feel hope, I feel dreams, I feel life outside of the water and soap surrounding me. 

I see a rose, fragile red petals atop an arched green stem. Ominous thorns, awaiting their opportunity to prick you if you squeeze too hard.  The petals shake in the wind, daring to fall off, leaving the rose behind, all alone.  I am that rose, I am that fragility, I am those thorns. 

I hear a yelling in the background.  “Trish, hurry up, the bus will be here in less than ten minutes,” my mom shouts, as the song slowly fades out, and I am left alone with the falling water again.   I turn the water off, grab a towel, and wrap myself in its rough threads.  I head out of the bathroom, steam from the shower following behind me, along with my my tender teenaged daydreams.