We are like roses that have never bothered to
bloom when we should have bloomed and
it is as if
the sun has become disgusted with
waiting - Charles Bukowski
About 5 years ago, deep in the throes of my first on- and off-again relationship, I had always wanted this particular poem tattooed somewhere on my body to commemorate our disconnect from one another. And while that sounds really strange (and maybe even worse than just getting his name tattooed on my chest), despite how self-explanatory the poem’s simplicity is, it has taken on new meaning for me since Jim came into my life 3 years ago.
By default, Jim and I are best friends. This poem, in relation to him, however, resonates much more strongly with me than it ever did with the first guy. The first time I saw Jim, he was nursing a High Life at the bar and checking the time on his phone to see just how late I was. When I sat down next to him, I immediately knew that I liked him and would eventually come to like him a very great deal. I could tell he thought I was pretty and his eyes lit up when I started talking about my favorite Orson Welles movie. He excused himself at some point to smoke a cigarette out front and I sat back, smiling at the idea that I once promised myself I would never date a smoker.
Three years have now passed and, after all that time, we are like roses who once bloomed and (I hope) can bloom again.
Beautiful
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