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Counting Dead Roses Makes Dreamers Fly

by  BorderBound

Posted: Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Word Count: 560
Summary: not sure if it counts as a story...




A woman once told me that the more you think, the less you feel. The more something eats at you emotionally, the less of a logical, sensible decision you are going to be capable of making. Anne was never too good at thinking. She always feltÖ. And she preached to everyone around her that they too, should be emotional, if nothing else. Anneís worst nightmare was to die unacknowledged. Another name on the stones in the graveyard.
Obsessed with death because she loved life, Anne would collect roses from supermarkets and replant them. They never grew, they died almost instantly but she never gave up and she never thought that she was being naÔve still trying.
The more you think, the less you feel. Well, perhaps everything is inevitable and perhaps nothing that you can do or attempt to do is going to stop fate from happening. Anneís parents, the rest of her family, and all her friends, which are here today, I donít think any one of us saw this coming.
Well of course we didnít. We were blinded by our love for her, our desire and perhaps need for her to stay with us. Maybe if we had thought about it we would have known and maybe if we had seen it coming we wouldnít be as shocked, as disturbed, as heart broken and distressed by her tragic last moments.
If I think back, this could have all been predicted years ago, Anne was never stable. All of the time and hurt and money and patience that went into helping her, really Ė I never actually had to do that because even with it she fell apart.
The roses that Anne planted are all dead. They never had a chance, and if you think about it logically, there was no real point in trying to save them. All of the time and energy that she had put into them could have been spared, for even with it, the roses died.
A woman once told me that the more you think, the less you feel. If last week you had told me that Anne was going to kill herself, that no matter what I did or said would have changed her mind and that there was no way of stopping her, there would be no logical reason to attempt it. But I wouldnít have left her side.
Anneís roses are dead. Anne is dead. Obsessed by death because she loved life so much. Terrified at being just another name in the stones in the graveyard. Well Anne will never be just a name to me. Nor will she just be a face or even a personality. The concept of trying when you know thereís no chance in hell of succeeding. That is what I am going to take away with me. Anne broke when she forgot that. Iím sure she thought about it. Iím sure she went through every scenario and every glimpse of hope and Iím positive that she tried to recover. The more I think about her death, the more I take into consideration her mental state and apparent frame of mind, the more it makes sense. The more I wish I had been there. The more it hurts.
A woman once told me that the more you think the less you feel. That woman is wrong.