Charlotte had read about trees that whispered words and the wild that lived on the other side of possible. She read nothing about fanciful flowers but perhaps it was ignorance. What she never imagined would happen, however, was her relationship with a rose flower, her “Rose Man.”
A stem sprouted from the earth beyond the woods that once homed her mischief. Charlotte sat over it, craning in observation. The tiny, beautiful rose flower hummed.
Mmm-mmm-mmm… Mmm… Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm… mmm… Mmm…
She grew fond of Rose Man over time. Charlotte would on a gloomy day, come and sit over him.
“You can do it,” he would whisper.
Charlotte often shed a tear, plucking a petal off Rose Man. She would pluck on, until she felt better, and saved enough petals to get him through the night. The following morning, as always, Rose Man would be complete and beautiful.
One day, she found him drooped.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
With a struggle, Rose Man whispered.
“Do you… Feel sad… Sometimes?”
She frowned as he went on.
“Sometimes… for no… reason?”
Charlotte considered as a tear dropped.
“Whenever I pick many petals- please warn me when it is too much- it is because I feel anxious and complicated.”
She leaned closer and carefully stroked the drooping petals.
“I would let you pluck my petals,” Charlotte said in a tiny voice, “I don’t have any, you know… But I have poetry,”
She exhaled, then held out cupped hands.
If I had petals like yours,
I’d take your pain in mine;
But the piece of you in me,
Shares your pain with me.
More tears dropped from her eyes.
Please smile, so that I can too;
Or we can brood, just us two.