The Thorn with a Rose

Ten

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You place your hand on the door, fully aware of the fact that you can lean in if you wish to, slump in defeat, and coalesce—or deform, rather—into a ball of your own pity party. The darkness around you seems to be doing just that, making the light shine dimmer than it usually does on a horrid Sunday evening when the doors close and secrets open, one year ends and the other, to your utter dismay, begins. 

It is not necessary to step a disheartened foot inside, but the cold, the miserable cold, does not want it any other way. You cast your eyes down to the boots that have seen better days, but instead of feeling sorry for them, you blanch. They seem to be gazing at you with that look mixed with condescension and acute regret. For what, you do not know, although you begin to realize ever-so slightly that these boots are a mirror reflection of you. Worn-down and creased.

Get. Inside. You grit your teeth, shoving those thoughts out with considerable force. But, just like any other idea, they inevitably bloom into distorted flowers every second you spend snipping off the buds.

The water rises above the surface, and you fling the door of the New Year's Eve party open.

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Nine

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The first thing to smack you across the face not once, but twice, are the colors. Golds the envy of sunrise, blacks the acquaintances of clandestine smiles and ivory fingers closing onyx curtains. Silvers the cliché linings of these two, stitching them to produce the morning glory of illicit business, the gleam of the predator's eye. And beneath it stands the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.

It is not because of the ruby dress that wraps around her like a serpent, an unnecessarily enormous bow carving a pedestal for her sculpted face. It is not because of the iridescent veil of stardust that coats her like a second skin. It is because of the way her expression pierces you, the well of your heart finally discovering a bottom.

It's only up from here, she promises, the slight twist of her lopsided smile the only evidence that this split-second tête-à-tête ever occurred. Perhaps it is the reassuring nod of her head, or perhaps the or perhaps the incandescent light that is not only emanating from her, but created by her.

Are you sure? Your sharp intake of uncertainty.

Well, there is no reason to think otherwise. The arch of her well-groomed eyebrow.

I—I just... Hopelessness is a demon, you know? The hiss of your opening airlock.

I know. Waves lapping on a shore, providing some semblance of serenity.

Does it ever get better? Skidding until the verge of the precipice, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping you will stop in time.

A rose has thorns, doesn't it?

And somehow, somewhere inside, you accept that.

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Eight

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You swivel around, a wistful orchestral tune permeating the hall. Each note is more ravaged than the next, yet all-the-more resplendent. You can no longer resist your urge to discover this masked beauty, so you quench your thirst for exploration and follow the tune.

It is hypnotic almost, and mesmerizing in its crescendos and diminuendos, so similar to the patterns of life. The accents are not where you would expect, the syncopation alarmingly correct. It is an ocean, and you are drowning in its torrential currents.

You stumble as if you are a helpless leaf rustling in the powerful gusts of wind, gasping for air though you are surrounded by it. Reaching for a hand despite being engulfed by a crowd.

You stumble, but someone is there to catch you.

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Seven

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You loose a shaky breath when you come face-to-face with a young man with olive skin and uplifted eyes the color of treachery, a trench coat adorning his seemingly celestial body. A gift from the heavens.

You pick at an unidentified lint on your jacket, conscious of every movement you make. Those irresistible eyes rove over you, a fiery, malicious glint now entering black flames. His head is inclined in your direction, beckoning you to initiate the conversation filled to the brim in the realm of the forbidden. He is dangerous, and that is his infallible allure.

Why can't I pull my gaze away from you? Your whisper is much louder than you intended, and your face reveals your blatant dismay. He catches it, and it is no secret his seductive grin reaches new heights.

I am no one's lover or love interest. I do not dwell in the world of romance. The gravity of his words does not drag you down, because his glittering tone suggests otherwise.

You are beautiful. It finally escapes your unraveling ropes, and you clench your fists to prevent your hands from soaring to your mouth. An ethereal cackle submerges you deeper, and despite yourself, you smile. Only silence crackles on the other side, indomitable.

You—you smiled. For once, his beguiling nature seems to be more of a façade. He stutters on his words, the gravel of the terrain of his voice turning into sand.

So? You ask, taken aback by this sudden change in the atmosphere. He flinches, but the cool, calm demeanor suddenly returns to his stance, as if the past few moments simply ceased to exist.

Though I am not, you are worthy of love. Always remember that.

You nod, because that is all you are capable of doing with your god-forsaken throat.

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Six

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You capsize. You sink to the floor, take your hands in your head, and silently, slowly let your tears wash the night away.

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Five & Four

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Two balls of fire are hurled your way. And immediately after, ice sizzles your burns.

Somehow the ice scorches you more.

You spring up from your carved place in the floor, a hatchling all too eager to face the harsh realities of the world. Flames dart around you, invisible one moment and glaring the next. They travel with the giddiness only children can possess, the buoyancy that only exists in worlds of mythical, mystical creatures.

You turn rapidly, hoping to catch the fire red-handed, though it is, upon a closer look, the hue of passions and fervor ablaze.

Hello!

Hello!

Two sets of chirps resonate, a slight lilt accompanying the frighteningly high pitch. Two children disembark from the shadows, their priceless beaming grins immediately filling you with... with joy. It is a foreign flavor at first, all tingly and tangy, but you know, deep within you, it is an acquired taste.

The children look to be twins, bedazzling mischief encircling their cherubic faces. One is a girl, one is a boy, both wearing formal attire that seems to sparkle despite its lack thereof. Their smile turns sweeter, though you are sure that is impossible, and it compels you to fall for them, over and over again.

The arch of their eyebrows implies they do not expect ignorance for an answer, so you clear your throat, wipe away the residue of your sadness, and greet them.

Why so forlorn?

Why so sad?

You are not accustomed to repetition, but these children can hardly be called annoying. Their connection clearly transcends any relationship, and somewhere, in the bleak cave, a light begins to flicker.

It has been rough. That is all you can muster, but it is enough for them. They exchange glances, unspoken words flittering between them, and pinpoint their attention on you. Sympathy pours from them, and the comforting look they gift you only causes you to crumble further.

They can sense this, and they run forward, embracing you with love you didn't know could exist.

Apparently, it could.

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Three

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At first, all you can decipher from your vision is wrinkles. Then billowing robes. Then a shadowed smile that has seen horrors and wonders spanning decades. Then a curving smile that would never lose its intrinsic beauty, even in the afterlife.

I have lived long enough to know when someone is hurting. Her voice surprises you not because it is melodic and effervescent, but because it is dark yet shining. A marvel.

Does it ever get better? You need this affirmation, you need the confirmation of a nod, of a firm yes. If you do not, the tether will indeed snap after its slow mending.

If I said yes, I would be deluding you. Your heart begins its descent, though it is not as sudden as you had expected. It is more of a feather in free-fall. It has time, and that makes it worse.

And if I said no, I would do you an incredible injustice. Your head perks up, defeat not yet dethroning the grim determination.

I do not have a clear-cut answer for you, but I want you to understand that this is completely fine. Cherish the uncertainty, because this is what we live for. This life is perfect because we are constantly searching for the answer, unaware that the journey we are on for this answer is the answer itself. A rose has thorns, yes, but don't the thorns have a rose?

For once, you take close your eyes and take a deep breath.

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Two

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You look down to your boots, cautiously wading in the deep-end of the pool you refused to acknowledge.

Yes, they are a reflection of you, but not what you had imagined.

Yes, they are worn-down, yet not completely disposable. Yes, they are creased, yet not entirely shredded.

When you smile, the world blooms with color.

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One

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You turn around, taking a few steps to the extravagant gold frame embossed with carvings. You place your hand on the edge of the canvas, leaning against it tenderly in the silence.

"Happy New Year," you whisper to the painting of your family.

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