A Rose Washed In Moonlight.

Far to long now I've caught myself admiring my neighbor's roses.

You see, he has the most elegant roses. So symmetrical and balanced, a red so deep it seems to genuinely define the term. Each bloom resting on stems of such a vibrant green that jade and emerald could only aspire for a comparison. 

I've never understood how they bloom so. He recognizes so little of them, and cares for them less still. There is but the clouds in the sky that sustain them. The soil is weeded and dry, cracked and lamenting. The dust dances on the wind and gives the only life to the scene, aside from the roses. Whose illuminating colors clash in a background that turns grey as the eye focuses. 

But, still they bloom, standing resilient against the background. Burning as a beacon of hope for all things lost and forgotten. I find myself gazing up from the pages of my books, forcibly drawn to his beautiful flowers. As the breeze pushes them into action a symphony seems to play, the roses dance upon the wind and my mind wanders.

How can they bloom so? They have no protection from the world, they are left defenseless to the storm and sun. Yet they bloom so truly, so strong. 

His roses invaded my mind, each time the wind would force my walls to speak. I'd look up and instinctively my eyes pierce the partition of my windows, dart across my lawn, and vault the fence. Where my gaze settles on the roses.

Throttled by the storm they stand strong, as the world around them grows ever more violent their beauty becomes a light house guiding lost ships like mine to shore. Giving them hope of finding home. 

As the days drag on I watch as he cares for all the other things across the way. The lawn transforms from a brown that seemed to draw the life from you; into to a lush and piercing green. He paints his fence and lines his path, and yet his roses lay unattended. The ground around them unruly and salted, empty of spirit and possessing an emotion one would find while sitting shiva. It was at this moment, I  made my decision.  A flower so resilient, so vibrant and full of life, must be cared for and made to prosper. 

I would sneak across the property line under the cover of night fall. Cut from the bush the strongest standing rose. The one that claims all attention from the rest.

It's bloom was wide and its petals folded like silk as they embraced the secrets within. Even the shadows seemed to give credence. Creating a frame to better the way the moon could shine upon my rose. As if it were the lights in a tunnel, guiding a weary traveler through and to their destination. The spot light supplied by the moon would guide me ever closer to my target. 

I felt a sense of pride as I freed the rose from its prison of ignorance. As I once again traced my steps, across the world it seemed...... I raced home.

I once again reached the safety of my castle with my prize in hand. I stood within my study, embraced by all things I loved. Holding in my hand the one I had so desperately sought. As the stars and moon pierced the veil of my curtains I could only imagine my neighbor walking from his home never the wiser. No sooner did the moonlight creep along my floorboards then did my newest possession begin to wilt. 

As the moon continued its unlawful trespass, so to did the grip of death on my most recent obsession. For a moment madness gripped me and I believed I could out run the moon, and in so doing save the life of my rose. I sprinted through the room bracing myself against a corner shielding my love from the vulgarity now taking place. As the light washed over the lifeless arena of my study only one thought sustained me: not yet.

The petals began to soften, bending under the strain of gravity. The stem grew dry and brittle in my hand, crumbling against the pressure of my skin. I watched in horror as the moon pushed deeper into the room moving the lines of war, attempting to reclaim its pride and joy.

As the lunar light sullied my legs and clawed its way up my person I was choked by a realization: this was the end, and I had reached it far before there had ever truly been a beginning.

I felt the weight on my chest grow as the moonlight bore into me, all the weight of the cosmos pressed down on me. Suffocating under its unending resolve. I gasped for air. Straining to give all the life force I possessed to claim a few more minutes.

Just a few moments I pleaded, I only need more time.

As the last few molecules of oxygen leave my lungs I'm blinded by a searing pain as the moon gnaws into my hands demanding retribution for my crime. 

My last remaining image was watching this beautiful thing turn to dust within my hands. It crumbled and fell to earth as it's essence left this world. My crime had cost me so much, and yet the rose, so beautiful and clean would be the one to settle my debt.

The rose was prosperous when all things were impossible, what if I had left it in a pit where even the most resilient would perish? Would it still be bloomed and would I still be able to look from afar at its beauty? 

This thought coats my mind as I learn the bitter truth. My rose, the very essence of beauty itself, would be the one to repent for my crime.  

I'm awakened by the burn of the sun on my face. A warm and subtle slap to life. I'm sore and disoriented as the memories of the night before flood my mind. The trespass, all my own, the crime and the retribution to follow. The ash still stains my skin as I push myself from the floor. Piled and powdered beneath me lies what was once a defining sight of beauty. 

The bush was barren this morning and my neighbor had left, never to return.

Never again would I allow myself to succumb to covet that which belongs to another. For in the unrelenting realm of reality, balance and retribution are a constant. For every crime there is a recourse and sadly all to often is the settler of the debt an innocent.

A rose, lost in the moonlight.