Fulcrum of a Rose

Do you have any tattoos? I drift into a dream, already overwhelmed by the world... There's barely a mark on me: a few scars, some freckles - no distinguishing features. Nothing has convinced me to label my skin, but I'm fascinated by how others are adorned - the point where a rose needed a permanence that lasted a lifetime, where a name could be written into flesh for what we understand as forever. I couldn't - couldn't carry a choice on my skin. To try and capture the moment things were wonderful - allow them to be hopefully etched - for I already fear the day after. I picture how I sink to my knees, ever in fear of watching myself fall and having that one wish, there and then, that I'd known better. So here I am, playing it safe, soaking into the moments everything is fragrant and beautiful, yet poised for regret. I know, deep down, that roses aren't meant to last.