the caring rose without the disco & alcohol

I wrote this note to re-examine tangible presence in my life. For many months now, I spent quality time with the members of the flowering family: the red rose, some pink tulips, purple Hyacinths and white Dahlias. I was accepted by this majestic kingdom of blooms for just the way I am. I love them with all my heart and it pains me to have not fully surrendered to their genuine beauty and unsolicited eagerness. Unfortunately, I was also distracted  by bugs that were reverberating with conceited angst–like hornets at the wrong side of a window pane.

I never swatted insects upfront. I wish I did, but I chose not to. There were bugs whose existence kind of serves as a reminder, for which I cannot help but smile and appreciate the sense of humour they unknowingly offered. All I could do was watch and pry open the windows in hopes that they escape their confinements. 

Such reckless presence convinced me that there’s so much beauty in acknowledging real potentials, and not buzzwords. Whichever books I examined, there’s a portion dedicated to people and things that were entirely significant to its creation. But most of the time, like life itself, it has been undeniably selective. There must be a reason why no film would roll its end credits providing everybody with special thanks–in spite of the fact that everyone must’ve done something in the making of a project.

The answer to this hushed fact is the reality that sharing common denominators are shallow by nature. Similarities won’t be the catalyst for liking and that the mere presence of company musn’t be rewarded. For personal relationships to be established and considered “deep-rooted”, it must be based on a presence that’s five-steps more miserable than established first impressions (without the disco and the alcohol).

Okay…make that ten steps lower without the disco and alcohol.

In the grand scheme of things, there’s always a turning point. It happened yesterday as I lounged at a lofty cafeteria. The view was breathtaking, and on my table was a rose in a vase and some typical objects to induce comfort in forgetfulness.  My eyes were focused at the view outside my window that’s comprised of distant structures and strangers. With so little regard to objects within my range of vision, I missed the daily beauty and significance of the caring rose in front of me.

I left the cafeteria and finally came down to earth.

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