Do I see the rose? Does it blossom and glimmer with my very step? Are these the thorns which have so cruelly pricked my thumb? Yes, yes to all. I wish it would rain. The air here is getting heavy with storm. The wind is tight and moves very little. Rain would be a blessing now And I would rain with the rain. But only inside. For the wind dries my eyes, and I will not cry. I wish it would rain. I have followed the path, and I stand at the bridge with my heart in my hand. And I do not dare to cross. There is uncertainty on either side, and I am afraid to go on. But I cannot remain here. Winter breezes chill my heart, leaving it a barren place, blowing out the gentle embers burning there. I see before me another pathway, one that is new. But it is on the other side of the bridge, and Winter has taken my courage. I cannot make my feet obey, for they are in conflict with my heart and mind. And I cannot move. The bridge looks strong, the new pathway inviting and cool, but all the same frightening. And I see before me two strangers. One who I have loved, and one who I am. Shall I become tame? Shall I hide the fragile beast of my longing within? Or shall I run, forever not knowing, forever free? And you stand beside me, confused. Yes, you sensed something was wrong. I did not want to be held nor touched, did not want to respond to your kisses. But could I say what I felt then? Could I be as callous as to break down your hope with one careless word? I could not. And thus I remain, silent. The rose is so much like love. Red, the very colour of passion. The sweet beauty, the sweet scent. The thorns that prick our fingers. Love is like a rose, growing or shrivelling according to its keeper. And what am I to Love? Am I a flourishing garden, or one that has not had enough sunlight? Are there clouds over me yet, waiting to cover up my sad beauty with darkness? Or am I indeed a new bud, waiting for a gentle ray of sunlight to touch me and make me burst with the very joy of life? I do not have an answer. I know there is Love, and I know that I love. But something is holding my heart, something as cold as Winter moonlight. I struggle in vain, it seems, to find the answers. So I lie here and do nothing but wait. And wonder.... Do I see the rose?