Faded Beauty...

The dried roses still sit on the window sill, still 'occupy' the fluted asymetrical green glass vase from so long ago...
Now I can't even recall how they arrived ... I don't know if I bought them or they were a gift, for a special occasion, or just because, but I do know that they were here 'before' ... Before that day when the world seemed to change, the day when dreams were shattered in a few words, the day that now seems pretty distant, but certainly holds no memory of beauty ... But the roses do, their dark dusky deep pink, some with heads bowed, some forthright ... I think in their faded beauty, in their obstinance to exist they have claimed the crown ... A crown of faded beauty, a crown of being, knowing, companionship in an odd way ... So still they sit, like paper, scent less, but still to me alluring, still with a promise of something ... A what if, a rewind, a presence ...