Chapter 126: Wild Rose

She was a wild rose in my garden, surely I did not plant the seed--As she overtook all that grew within the garden gates, I found that unless I danced upon her blooming petals, I would be left asunder in the looming darkness she had also made for me--

Unless such love consumes all of life, as to define where you are in relation to such a thing; you know not love, and only know love’s creation as a veil covering your very own heart-- I am not my only self, she would whisper in my ear; and though I could only know her in the confines of my skin, she made such skin worthwhile--

And such strength in the belief of my own rule was as brittle as my bones to such that rules-- I would surely kneel down to bliss, and I would surely rise up for hers; for a man who thinks the weakness in the face of the waters is that of a ripple, is a man who won’t allow himself to be distorted, and in so a man who could not allow himself to be moved-- And such a man is his own tombstone; marking the grave where he ought to have lived--

And I am tombstone, I am a wandering tombstone; till one disturbs my grave--