• santor_674 46w

    The Rose petals in my journal have dried into shades of brown and your photographs in my drawers haven't tasted air for years now..

    Read More

    When a Rose Bloomed in Winter!

    And when I relish about the years bygone , your phony and bland promises still dawdle in my ears. Reciting the symphonies of your ineffective melodies - I lay in search of what these resonance beholds - the whacking of my aphonic soul or the giggles of your hideous laughs. Trailing back my drawer , I found your photographs that lay deep underneath the withered petals of heliotrope that you bestowed me at the shallow lane across my residence. And that shallow lane left back memoirs that settled deep inside the retina of my eyes. All those magnolias and redbuds that showered on us ;as we dreamt of us together fluttering in a folk tale. And now I sidle down the shallow lane as I could glimpse of the trodden footprints and the scent of the florals still wavering in though winter had gathered up with it's heap of snow flakes. I caressed those fantasies I built up in my journal picturing us with a tinge of blues - which the rose petals adorn to dress themselves and bloomed out afresh. The thorns pricked my thumb which became a tranquil leading to solace over the bed of cactus. For it was the rose he lent me years ago that symbolized the hoax of our eternal love. For I went to lock the window when one of our polaroids swished to the frozen lane , which reminded me of the fact of how can a rose blossom in a winter and then I contemplated that everything you gave is just an illusion