Roses were always red or pink or yellow. It had been the norm. It's what I was used to.
So when I saw them for the first time, I stood captivated.
The blue roses.
So beautiful. So out of the ordinary. They had an air of arrogance around them. Like they knew that they were unique. One of a kind. They were special and had to stay that way.
It's almost like they were acting out what they stood for - The Unattainable, The Impossible.
I spent a long time just watching them.
I wish I had bought them. Or atleast touched them. But I was scared. Scared that I might inflict pain to something so delicate and beautiful.
After what felt like an eternity of gazing at the supreme beauty, I walked out. Resolving to come back soon. For them. To make them mine.
I never did go back there. Once out of sight, their beauty intimidated me. And yet, not a day has passed that I didn't think of them.
It's a thin line. I know I am at a loss for words to describe the feeling here.
I am terrible at analogy too.
One day, I hope to be them.
Not the common, ultimately disregarded or discarded red yellow or pink. But them... the terrifyingly captivating blue..... The blue rose in somebody's life. The one somebody who will not inflict any more pain.