Enveloped Kissed Rose...[pt.00]

June 19th, 2043..::

Another day of grey, gloom-filled wind...Withering winds roughly whistle through the skies bringing sudden moments of silence when the breeze did decide to ease. Naked trees hover the glistening roads of Hoax Lane, uneven pavement align the eerie street, varieties of blood red concrete roses creeping through the cracks... It is told to us as children that picking them brings a bad case of luck & if you step upon just one, your love life is cursed. That "rule" is not even but rarely followed..That is unless you're like Eu'Phelise, nature passionate, and even sometime strong in her wrong. Her prophetic mishaps concerning looking after our "...obscure graciously fucked senile planet..", as she'd put it, is why I lose my breath between sentences as she speaks. When its comes to her theories, she knows what she speaks of for the first five minutes and when she really knows her stuff, you've got yourself a good fifteen minute debate. Peculiarly even then, she may not admit that she isn't right, but she wont tell you aren't either. Her power of not shaming herself nor fussing you into believing her beliefs, moved me in a sense. The unexpected snow storm was a beautiful wreck that threw the people of Hoax for a real whirlwind. Sticking my arm outside my attic window to let snowflakes fall upon my hand, quickly pulling my hand back in to see if they appear as they do onscreen-melting as soon as I can get my palm some inches from my face. That was the new killer of boredom for 2 seasons now. Eu'Phelise hasn't written back since Valentine's & I had gotten into 3 arguments this month with my mother and my emotions are caged lions and tigers by now. Old summer images, & video diaries save my sanity. Whispers in my mind to burn them all and become my own confidant, or keep my admiration of E. deep in my heart. Yet whatever happened to my Eu'Phelise? She mentioned an altercation between her & her father that had flown in to lift some weight off of Mrs. Beaufonnt's shoulders. That February she also demanded that I no longer have roses delivered to her doorstep in her last letter. After three letters & one rose pendant for her lucky charm bracelet, even though I don't believe in luck, my hope looked to have been running out. Besides faith on the wire, luck was the only word to stroke this hopeless romantic's ego. Freshly widowed at thirty-six weeks pregnant, her mother had been bed resting from swollen hamstrings, so really deep down half of me feels for my Eu'Phelise, although her ignoring my plea does tug softly at my heart. Walking from my master bedroom bath, draped in my Cotton Sherpa, the aroma of oven baked sugar cookies flush my thoughts of you. Tip toeing softly toward my already open window, I stop to stare onto the silent white riot outside. Thirty seconds in I breathe in... I start to compare thee & me to the snow debris. Am I cold for feeling like hanging onto the thought of sticking with you is my own despair in front of me that I seem to not see? When the wind finally stops, fog clears & the roses lye still, crusted with ice... Visions of you four years ago, I can still hear your voice call out my name, & my foot-steps rushing to my windowsill to find you waving both your arms back and forth over your head with the most alluring smile a gal can carry, strawberries in hand. A gust of wind-sadly-brings me back into the present moment, a glimpse of the reflection of your photo in the mirror...