the roses are dead

Wilted doesn't even begin to describe the state they're in. The water in the vase smells bad, and it wafts through the air as I sit cross-legged at the kitchen's island, writing for the first time in what feels like forever. I feel sad for them, they didn't ask to be plucked from their roots, and now they sit here pathetically slouched over the crystal glass we placed them in. The petals are crisp and turning black, it truly is a depressing sight. Despite the smell and the state that they're in, the feelings they evoke are much more complicated. Simply put, they are dead roses in a vase on the island in my kitchen. To me, they represent the space you have created within yourself to consider and appreciate me. Though I can't be certain, I imagine you saw them and thought that they would make me smile. This is representative of the time you've taken to know me, the care you've put in to understanding the small things (which are really the big things). The roses, to me, are a symbol of the way we flow together and the understanding required to live with another human. Even the fact that they are dead and smell bad represents to me the time and energy we put into just living our life with our children - remembering to trim them and change the water is not something we have time to consider because we are to busy just living and loving our lives. So yes, the roses are very much dead - but the love between us is only just blossoming. This is my favorite chapter yet.