29 days left

(Very Short Story I wrote on Sunday, January 10th, with 29 days left to live.)

The Roses

Sadie sat among the blooming roses, red, yellow, white, and pink. She smiled up at the sun, her eyes closed, hands outstretched.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked her.

The dark haired, 40ish woman started. "Terry," she said with a hand to her heart. "You scared me."

I sat down on the bench next to the woman I had a huge crush on.

"The roses," she said in reply to my question. "I envy their courage."

I said nothing, but the aerobics my face were under going must have made my question clear enough. She laughed at me. Normally I don't like this sort of thing, but I feel like taking class clown lessons from my nephew when I hear her laugh.

"I take it you've never thought about it before," she said, still smiling.

"No," I say quietly, shaking my head in consent. Does Peter think about these sorts of things? I wonder. Should I cultivate those kind of thoughts? I am trying to figure out how a rose can be courageous when Sadie explains.

"A rose bud is safe," she reaches out her hand to touch one of the plentiful ones in my grandmother's old garden. "Her armor covers up her vulnerable petals. Unfortunately it also covers up her beauty. It takes a lot of courage, and trust in the one that created her, to open her petals. To bloom. To be vulnerable, and to be beautiful. I wish I could do that more."

'You are very beautiful' I want to say, but when I open up my mouth, the words aren't there. So I close it again, and I get up to walk with a Rose among roses.

Inspired by the song that goes "And what was said unto the rose/to make it unfold/was said to me here in my chest/so be quiet now and rest."

(I didn't say it had to be good, I just said it had to be words.)