The Little Prince

'The men where you live,' said the little prince, 'raise five thousand roses in the same garden- and they do not find in it what they are looking for.'
'They do not find it,' I replied.
'And yet what they are looking for could be found in one singe rose, or in a little water.'
'Yes, that is true,' I said.
And the little prince added:

'But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart...'
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's raining now. Pouring, actually. A thunderstorm. Cool, fresh air, finally, after a week of sweaty stuff days.

A mug of hot vanilla tea. Soft music in the background, one which reminds me of better things.

Of better things than losing.

Then the rhythm of the rain blends with the music, to perform an orchestral encore...

I have not lost then. I didn't have it in the first place.

A bright flash; soon after, the sky cackles like the wicked witch of the west.

I looked. I know I did, long and hard. For the goal the goal the goal my precious. Reaching out to grasp, struggling to reach, then grabbing...

...thin air. So I think it must have been possibly impossible, or impossibly possible. A mirage, then.

A mirage of five thousand roses within reach, in my garden, soon to be in hand, to satisfy, to beautify my home, to show off to neighbours.

I can't bear the thought, and close my eyes. Then as the pour turns to a trickle, as the cackling ceases, as silence takes it's seat, I pray, with all my heart, for a single real rose.