Author: Rosaceae

He made a reservation. An oasis in the depths of nature. A surrounding of trees and rain drops by a waterfall. A box of white rose petals. A bouquet of white flowers which he arranged and placed in a glass vase the night before she arrived, a present in leaving.


As she woke up and noticed he was gone. There was a collection of fragrances lined upon the table, memories collection, thousand of dollars in total. He had been saving up for a couple of months to present this. He wasn’t a rich man, and he didn’t care to be one, enjoying the simpler things in life, but the longer they were together, the more time or money he spent on his expression for her.

‘Everything can be faked. Joy, pain, hate, illness, recovery, even love… But there is always something authentic concealed in every forgery.’ (The Best Offer)


And when they got there, there was even more experiences to be had.

“What do you think of this one?”, she asked staring at a piece on the wall.

Was it all a forgery? A deception in disguise, actors/ actresses who were talented in fooling everyone, including themselves, deliberately in the presence of others… Which is why they were cold enough to let so much go, sentimentality and emotions that was faked, so believable that it fooled themselves. This was the reason they were interesting, a mystery of their presence. Was it a misdirection, or was it real? Even they didn’t know.

It was 10:00pm. She texted him.

You up?

Maybe

I’m bored, come over.

There was a laughing emoji. What did you have in mind?

A wink. I want to watch a scary movie. Can you stay?

Depends on the movie.


He threw a rock at her window on the upper level in her backyard. She looked out the window and opened it.  “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

Lying on the kitchen table was a bowl of homemade, I mean microwaved, movie theater popcorn, as she began preparing to drench it in butter. There was a tone of three beats as she poured the contents of the bag into a bowl. She threw some popcorn on him as she returned to the room. He grabbed a few pieces and threw it in the air, catching it in his mouth. Nice.


“You ready to watch the movie?”, he said as the snow was peaking in through the blinds of the curtains. A large throw blanket keeping them warm from the gentle cold outside. Picking up the remote. Pressing play.

It was always a different genre; romantic, funny, scary, exciting. A scary movie scene was playing, something interrupts in scaring her. He held onto her, holding her comfortably close, keeping her safe, as they sat on the couch, a blanket covering her.

Her father was always buying gifts for her mother, he always had them ready. Most of the times buying it cause he liked it, but it wasn’t suited for him. A necklace here, an earring there, a ring to stop and stare. Something cute, something neat, something just so sweet. He was always looking for gifts to give her, some that he would purchase, others that he would make, or a planning of important dates. Gifts that he didn’t always give her, taking time to see if it was worth it, waiting for the right time when it felt right. And because of this he never forgot an anniversary or a special day with her, because in the back of his hand he was always hiding something, always ready to give her something, even when it wasn’t time to give, sometimes a sudden spontaneity.


There was a bell hanging at the tip of the door. As it opened from pedestrians entering and leaving, it gave off a friendly jingle. The café with candle lighting amongst each table was quaint, a cozy patio surrounded by picket fences that gave view to the setting sun lake.


“What do you think?”

“It’s like a hidden gem. Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes. I like the atmosphere.”

“Hidden gem?”

“Yeah, like a needle in a haystack.”


Her phone rang, she looked at him, “pardon me”. When they planned time to spend together they spent less time on their phones. Because they wanted to pay attention to each other, to give each other an undivided attention, to be there. Limiting to not turn to something else when things got quiet or silent. Listening to the surroundings, the sensations, seeing the world for what it was- where they were. An inhale and exhale.

…

As the check laid upon the table, he reached for it but was stopped as she placed her hand on top of his in reassurance. “Please let me. I want us to take turns.”

He stepped in, out of a courteous gesture. Though she was different. Quite capable of herself. For she shared this affection, offering as equally as he may. There was a respect and independence, in which they were both, willing to put themselves in mutually. The thoughts and feelings between the individuals were the same. And that’s how it began. The man is chivalrous in covering in the beginning, and if the feelings were mutual and there was a connection, then it became an equality.

I never meant to fall for her, but the more time we spent together, the harder it became. Even if she wasn’t everything I thought she may be, I liked her for who she was, in her nakedness. And in that moment I just couldn’t think about anyone else in the same way. It wasn’t easy.

Though she was generally open, sometimes she was shy around him. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know how to act. She was afraid of what he may think. And so they had indicators of vulnerability for each other. An insinuation, a sudden spontaneity. She wore a sleeky scrunchie, sometimes in her hair, other times on her wrists, or discreetly on her ankle. Hoping but not expecting him to notice it, to sweep her off her feet. To be gentle with her, to be passionate, to show his love for her.

Green, as in a green light. He ended up loving the color green on her, as pretty as she may be in any color, since it was rare, and she was making herself vulnerable to him. Giving herself to him.

“Can I try something?”, he said leaning in a little more than halfway, pausing briefly, awaiting her response.

He bought that scrunchie just for her, it was one of her favorite gifts from him.

…


They liked to attract each other, hiding parts of themselves away, to only show the perfect version of themselves. When they accidentally didn’t, they were embarrassed, but they made each other comfortable, because it was only natural to be human, to make mistakes. But they were comfortable with each other, being able to say anything that came to mind, setting boundaries, sometimes opening them, sometimes closing them, doing things without worry or judgments. Most of the time anyway, and when there, it was always jokingly, playful, with humor.

He sent her a letter that night in the reflection- a location, date, and time, sealed in an envelope, marking the day they had their first date. He planned every specifics, and prepared for everything that was to happen, everything except how the evening would go. It was a week from now. He did this for the first several dates all of which were far apart from each other. The details needed time, and through the wait there was a buildup of excitement and anticipation. He didn’t often splurge what he earned, so when he did spend, it was always with purpose, and it was always with quality. This was how he planned the special dates in the days of the years later on, the standard dates were still formal but because of the frequency later on, the effort was conceded according to the importance. An invitation by mail, a return enclosed, which she would check the boxes, sending back by mail. Accepts with pleasure or declines politely. An anonymous secret admirer.


He grabbed his umbrella and walked her home that evening. When they reached the footsteps of her door, he turned to her, standing beneath the umbrella in the drizzling rain. The orange red colors of the sunset engulfing stormy dark blue grey clouds, a beautiful array of colors. “Bye”, she said smiling and heading towards her door.


“May I see you again?”

She turned around and looked at him, walking up in front of him, and in those eternal seconds of response. As she moved closer into his space, in breaths reach, tippy toeing up to him, her hands against his chest, her breath against his as their lips barely touch, not saying a word. “I was wondering if you were going to ask me”, the scent of her breath intoxicating him. She started to walk back towards the door, without saying anything more. “Send me the details?”, she said as she reached her door again.


Vibrations of a cellphone: texts that were blurred out and hard to read, the audience watches as she lays on her bed looking at her phone typing… time, location, agenda.

*Pick me up at my place?

*My pleasure


Flirting is a beautiful game, a game of whether or not what you think is true, is true. Excuses to touch. To suggest.

A look here. A look there. A lead up to where you want to go.

She folded up the pamphlet. Dressed in an elegant dress, it was a sexy professional attire, fitting for the occasion. He was in a suit, tailored made with a subtle look, to draw attention more to her.



It was the day of her father and mother’s anniversary. Her father gave her mother a gift. It wasn’t expensive but he put a lot of thought into it. It was a book of vouchers that he printed and stitched together.  He told her each slip can be used only once a year. Just leave it by the nightstand when you are ready to use it, he told her. And that was what she did. But he told her it would have to go both ways, he winked. It’s a gift for us both.

x1, A 2 week vacation voucher for her enjoy to herself. He would take care of the house and kids.
x4, A week of 1 hour nightly massage sessions by him.
x7, A full day at the spa where she may choose a person to join her.
x4, A week of him cooking dinner for them, whatever she wants if she had a preference.
x14 A full day (12 hours) to relax at home.

Why do people like the capacity to chase? Does it give them a sense of value? If something was caught, would we get bored if it never tries to caught again? Like a game of tag. Tag you’re it. The harder the catch, the greater the sense of accomplishment. But does the hunt truly ever end? Even in something long term, isn’t it always about the hunt and the chase? Only this time it is with something else in mind? Is that why people cheat, when they lose that sense of feeling like they can still find someone worth catching? Is a relationship always about the finding and chasing of one another? A 60-40 give and take? One giving slightly more, hoping the other will come after? As it teeters and totters back and forth, as one catches the other and the other escapes or is let go. An endless chase of one another. And would marriage and starting a family then be 100-100. Sometimes falling short to 90-110 or 110-90. If the other may be sick or need a hand 180-20, 20-180. Knowing they caught something worth keeping, and putting 100 of what they can do into it. 100 into the energy put in, and a hunt and chase in the other aspects.


Would you want to know if your spouse cheated on you, or die happily unbeknownst to their lie? Ignorance is bliss, but is a trust without truth. Honesty. Honesty frees your heart, honesty builds a trust. The green stem that grows and the green leaves that flourish, to support the bud of the flower as it blossoms about. No matter how short-lived, no matter how long-lasting. And when that trust is broken, it is like starting from the beginning, only this time in harsher conditions. Whether annual, perennial, biennial, … But what if the honesty spoke of dishonesty- lies, deception, and misdirection, but faithful once that promise was made.

They loved walking together. Just around town, watching people go by and finding new places to explore. She was laughing, putting her arms around him holding close, one hand from behind the other in front.


“Let’s go here”, she said dragging him towards the indoor ice/ roller skating rink.

Somehow she was naturally talented at many things. The way she skated across the ice was magical, even though she hardly ever ice skated. He wondered how that was possible.

She was his model. Posing in all types of fashion and settings. Holding a gown comfortably to irrevocably evoke her naked feminine beauty. Dressing elegantly to pose with the bokeh of the background. Laughing candidly in the setting of a scene. He took a picture of her. He often took pictures of her. Sometimes editing afterwards. Often never looking to as he loved her natural beauty, but on occasion. She looked like a model, on a magazine, on tv, in a movie. Natural and beautiful in the raw and detailed format. She was rare, beautiful in the attention, but at times shy enough to not ask for it. As the sounds of a click revealed a photo.





She was smiling, her hair moving as if spinning. A shoulder facing and a portion clandestine. Her hands elegantly and playfully leaning, one in front the other behind.


“Do you ever let go of something you hold close?”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“There was a time when I used to hold on to everything because of the memory that was attached to it. The person, the place, the time. At some point, I wanted to let go.”


The moment I realized I couldn’t get it back, my heart sank. No matter how hard I tried, there was no solution, I could find a way to retrieve it back. Fear of facing the idea of losing it forever. But right then and there something began changing. I started to let go, removing the things that I was carrying onto the floor. Then I felt free, and it became easier to walk, I had so many new things to look forward to. But deep down I still try to hold something, that one thing that made me remember losing so much. Because the less I had, the stronger it was, and the more it meant. Before becoming just a memory that may return.

Because as her father said, if something ever touched the heart, then, it really, never parts.

“I kept the things that I loved”, her hands were holding on to the necklace she was wearing. She lost that necklace sometime later in the story. Normally she rarely takes it off, but the one time she did, it was stolen.