Blind spot

 

Oh hush, don’t read this aloud,

it’s a story no one knows

She was covering her tan with long sleeves,

when he held out a black rose

Oh pain, how it shot under her skin,

like icicles her broken heart froze

Her frail body shivered as she wondered,

“was all I deserved a black rose?”

She wondered if it’d be any different,

if she changed the colour of her hair

Would she still get a black rose,

if she were a tad bit more fair?

Her insecurities convinced her,

the flower was some sick joke

She should’ve seen the boy’s eyes,

at length his nervousness spoke

Oh pain, how it shot under his skin,

as embarrassment clouded her mind 

She walked away, repulsed,

totally missing he was colourblind 

He knew she loved dark red,

the florist heard him wrong 

But nothing he could’ve said,

would change this sad song

For it was never about colour, 

neither of her skin nor flower

It was her blindness that ruined their ‘could’ve-been’,

to the essence of his gestures, that she’d never seen

Yes, he didn’t love her how she wanted,

but she failed to understand 

That it didn’t mean he didn’t love her, 

with all that he had...

***

“Just because he doesn’t love you the way you want him to, doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you with all that he has” - Anna Todd

They remain apart, however not by his blindness but hers- to his love for her. 

The “black rose” could mean anything from a tangible gift whose sentimental value went unnoticed, to something more abstract- an emotion that went unacknowledged owing to some blind spot of ours.