The Monarch and Her Rose

Loneliness. It is the sliding of silk and satin over a marble ballroom floor. It is the clinking of crystal cut glasses on mahogany side tables. It is the consuming of small appetizers that float around the party on silver platters. It is the smelling of flowers that grow profusely as a border for garden paths. It is the sighting of a handsome young man guiding a lovely maid through a dance. Loneliness.
The mid-April twilight becomes you. Soft, flowing curls are highlighted by the moon’s presence. Your eyes an impossible shade of blue-green, the forest and the ocean brought together at last. A dainty doll nose casts shadows onto your full lips. He had likened them to cherries once. And tonight you were going to give him a taste. But no matter how beautiful you are tonight, no matter how much the candle light causes your opulent skirts to shimmer, you can only be Lady Godiva. She, an eternal Venus.
How much longer will you stand there watching? In this world of social butterflies he is just one rose. There will be others. Society dictates that there will be others. And society will always remain the marble banister hedging the balcony. The only thing that keeps you from flinging yourself towards him, from seeing if love gives you wings.
For just one moment you contemplate the jump. You wonder if the waters of the glimmering pond beneath you will be your final lover’s embrace. You imagine, for just one instant, the steel and whale bone weighing you down, dragging you into the inky darkness. Where the candles become stars and the moonlight can no longer dole out favor unevenly. You even slide yourself forward and press your gloved and ringed palms to the cool edge of the banister.
You shield your eyes and continue to imagine as you push yourself up, higher, higher, higher. Up and out into the oblivion that frees rather than confines.
And then a stream of golden light and music hits you. The voice of heaven calls you back, back into society and the safety net it provides. No matter how beautiful she is, no matter how the twinkle of diamonds shines in her eyes, no matter how coquettish and alluring she can become, he is but one rose. She will fly off, flirting among the petals of all the finely dressed men in attendance, and he will bend down on one knee and whisper the only words that could trap you amongst his thorns forever.
She can be the swallowtail among the daisies.
You are the monarch and her rose.





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havingfunwriting said...
Oct. 26, 2010 at 6:45 pm
i dont know what to say! im speechless. you REALLY have a talent for decribing things. this is soooo good!
 
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