A dedication to a friend who had every right to discard me and move along with life…but chose to help and support me because they saw the good that others refused to see.
The wrinkled petals. The faded colour.
He saw it as a flower.
The diminished scent. The fragile state.
He put it in his hand and still called it great.
It lacked a stem. It belonged to no bouquet.
He knew that and still said “okay”.
The world had deemed it useless. The world’s standards said,
“It has no beauty.”
He smiled and replied,
“To you. Not me.”
They called him a fool, they even laughed.
They saw nothingness where he saw something worth
Picking up the broken rose.
The rose felt the warmth. The rose absorbed the hope.
Faded became bright. Fragile turned into firm.
The petals conjoined and became greater than what they once were.
The beautiful scent returned in full force as it gained more power.
This rose, once again, was a fully-grown flower.
They didn’t know what to say. All were at a loss for words.
He’d ignored their “Don’t. Won’t. Can’t.” and gave the rose
A risky chance.
A chance never forgotten. A chance the rose never released.
A chance the rose cherished so much it vowed to be
As radiant and fulfilling as can be.