Blank

             Dusk fell across the land. Yet, I sat there, staring at the blank pages of my book. I held my pen aloft, just above the top left corner of the very first page. Still, nothing came. I wasn’t surprised. I’ve sat here for as long as I can remember but nothing was ever written. No ideas flowed. Creative juices just refused to pump. There was just nothing interesting to write about. I had no inspiration.

            I retraced my memories. Flipping through the compartments of my mind to find that one thing that stood out amongst the rest. That one single event worth writing about.

            I went to see the ocean today. Surely there must the something I could write about. I closed my eyes, and I was at the bay once again. The scenery was amazing – the sun was high, the clouds formed majestical works of art in the sky, and the swans paddled across the waters without a care in the world – but there was something missing. The sunlight lacked that special glint. The clouds were missing their silver linings. The swans weren’t as graceful as books described them to be.

            With a grunt of frustration, I was back within the four walls of my room. I gave up and tried to think of something else.

            I went to a theme park a few months back. Maybe that would do. I shut my eyes once more and there I was, standing in the bustling crowd of the theme park. The atmosphere was absolutely vibrant. Everyone had smiles on their faces. The rides and food provided joy to people as well as myself. My pen slowly approached the blank page when something stopped me. There was a flicker in my memory. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a boy crying – his mother bent over him shouting at the top of her lungs. I saw disappointed faces where rides broke down, upsetting those who have been in line for hours. Without warning, rain poured from the sky, sending everyone scattering back to their vehicles and onwards to home.

            I welcomed reality once more with open arms. A memory I thought to be perfect turned out to be a rather unhappy one after all.

            After a long sigh, I remembered one memory that could not possibly go wrong. One plucked from across the years. My eyes were closed and before I knew it, there I sat in a hall, watching a philharmonic orchestra in all its magnificence, performing Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony. I felt goosebumps crawl up my spine as I listened to the sounds of violins, flutes, and oh so many other beautiful instruments. It was almost perfect. Almost. My heart sank as the conductor fumbled with his baton, slowing the orchestra down ever so slightly – hardly even noticeable. The change, albeit minute, forced some errors from the musicians. Notes were played out of tune and the search for perfection continues.

            I sighed and open my eyes. A new dawn came as sunlight woke the land. I acknowledged my imminent defeat and closed my book. I stood up and walked over to my front door. I decided that a whiff of fresh air might calm my head a little. I stepped outside and walked a few steps, just enough to see the horizon where the sun was rising. I frowned. There was still something missing. I turned around and started towards my home when something made me freeze.

            It was a single lavender, thornless rose growing out of my bushes. Bushes I could’ve sworn were not rose bushes. I stared at it. It was perfect. It gave off a certain radiance I could not put a finger on. A beauty and pureness I have never laid eyes upon before.

            “Excuse me.” The voice startled me, and I turned around to see a girl standing in front of my door. “My home got badly damaged recently, and I am exhausted. May I rest here until mine is mended?”

            I have never invited a complete stranger into my house before. But there was something about her that made me agree. She looked warm and sincere. I welcomed her into my home, and it was a decision I never regretted. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted her to stay. Since that day, the sun was a bit brighter, people seemed a bit warmer, and music seemed to ring through my very soul with every passing second. With her around, I started writing. With her around, I started filling my book with perfect stories. Perfect stories to be kept within my heart forever. She was my perfection.

            After only a month, my heart was surrounded by millions of beautiful lavender roses. And not a single thorn.