I saw this bouquet of roses on my morning walk. A full bouquet, neatly tied together, as if it were perfectly prepared to be given to someone or received by someone. An offering of love. Except the bouquet was left in the oddest of places: on a main’ish type of road, on the ledge of an overpass, passing over a stream.
I’d really like to think someone forgot it. Using my noodle, though, that doesn’t make too much sense. Someone leaving them because they didn’t want them or decided not to give them to someone connects the dots a little more.
The moral of the story is that we don’t know someone’s story by just looking at a photo or seeing a glimpse from the outside. In the roses, much like on social media, we see something that looks great with beautiful captions, but we never really know what’s behind it. We’re invited into people’s digital journeys, given small doses, and think we know the story. We don’t.
What I see here is something beautiful left for the rest of us to see. And I believe there was a little bit of love behind it at one point, even if it’s just a bit of beauty for anyone passing, and that’s enough for me.
Maybe the coffee, perhaps the roses.
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