By Colin Ahern – Contributor

“I should be so lucky as to wilt with you.” Said the Tulip to the Rose.

Unfortunately, the Rose was silent because everyone knows that roses can’t talk. 

It did, however, take on a brilliant hue of crimson, no doubt a vestige of the sun’s glow.

“It’s a bit funny really, people always scoff and turn their noses up at roses nowadays. I think they’re just contrarians though, you know; people who love to disagree.” 

The Rose apathetically swayed in the breeze, making the Tulip feel a bit self-conscious.

Consequently, the Tulip, with a helpful gust of the very same wind, 

leaned over to the rose adjacent and whispered, “I read something last night that made me cry, you know. I read the phrase ‘Life, a Lover’ and while I don’t know exactly what it means, the page that cradled those words seemed to recognize something buried deep within me.”

The Rose’s distracted face spurred the Tulip deeper into contemplation, as if yearning to break through the silence that inked into the air and muddled their ability to make eye contact.

“It churned around for a while in my mouth, too large to swallow and too tough to break down into feelings that I could entomb in the pit of my stomach. Life, a lover. It makes me wonder, if maybe I’ve been living like love is for when life feels empty and I only really live my life when there’s no room in it for love. Have you, resplendent Rose, laden in scarlet hues of temptation, ever wondered about the space and shape of your life?”

The Rose, looking down, swayed from one side to the other.

“It’s a funny way we think; give a flower vanity and a brain, they’ll think they’re the center of the universe. Why is it then, that when flowers fall in love, the Rose becomes the focus of my attention. Gone are the days of wearing harvest moonlight, sheets of snow, or rays of daylight; I yearn only to live for your love.”

The Rose looked at the Tulip for a long time, wishing more than anything that it could speak its mind.