Roses Are Red

She marches ever forward. Looking towards the horizon. She barely blinks or else she may miss her goal. The fine point of light that constantly beckons her. She has no idea what lays ahead. She only knows the trek.

Her trek.

She will not stop until she reaches that light. No. Not the the one at the end of the tunnel. This is not how she travels. Her world is open. Seas. Plains. Valleys. Landscapes... but she only focuses on the pinpoint of light. The promise of new experience? Love? Happiness?

A tunnel?

Maybe it is, but she doesn't care to think of these things. It will only slow her down.

As she struggles ever closer to that end. That truth. The way.

Time never stands still so she keeps moving. Moving. Moving.

Her bones are weaker. Her muscles not as strong...but she will get there, even if she had to crawl. She will get there.

She knows it.
She will get there...

Her feet are weary and her mind is playing games with her reality... but she will get there.

She will never stop.


Now that she has died, she no longer wants to continue. When did this happen? At what mile did her body finally collapse? She doesn't know.

Actually... strangely enough, she doesn't care.

She looks back at her path.

Seas. Plains. Valleys. Landscapes.
So beautiful.


She never stopped to notice. To breath it in. To lay in it.

But she is dead now. Those things are gone. Her living reality a waste. No memories to wrap around her in this solitude of the spirit...

No roses to stop and smell...