top of page

Yellow Rose


Riley Briones

Name: Yellow Rose, Point of Origin: Middle East, Date: TBD

Dear journal, I was thinking of my whole time alive. I was planted here for as long as I can remember when they moved in. I was chosen for my bright colors and the joy I bring from the outside. I used to be happy I was loved. I had a family who always took care of me even through the harsh winters and nasty weather. I loved watching them grow, as I grew to see how beautiful they have gotten; to see their faces light up when they look up at me. I used to be so tall compared to the light; I was something they looked up to and wanted to be. I would sometimes go away when it came to the season for me to leave. However, as soon as I came back I got to see the growth they had made, like they were following my lead. I loved the touch I got when others visited and the way they looked at me. The feeling that I was picked amongst all others and I still get picked to this day by the children I watched grow. I was made to be here. The family wanted me, but was it just for my beauty, was I only a material to them only to be seen from the outside? Do they not care what I actually feel? I watch as so many people come and go through the doorway. I’ve experienced the loss of people too; watching new people come along so happy to see the children I love inside. I have seen many things, the love these humans give to each other, their faces light up when they see them like how they used to look at me. But, one day these new people disappear and they never come back. I see the face of a once happy child grow into a depressed lonely girl. She never looks at me the same. I no longer feel the love and joy I used to give to these people. Is my reason for being here gone? Have I failed to keep this child happy? The once joy I brought to others and myself is gone. I feel empty. I can no longer serve for those I love. The girl has gone so far down into a hole I never get cared for anymore. I see the sunlight come over the house and the water hit my roots; but nothing will ever be good enough as the love she once gave me. I am gone. I am nothing. But, I still live day to day growing more and more sad as I see her grow to be the feeling that I feel. I am her. She is me. We are a part of one another. If only she could see.

bottom of page