When I was a little girl, I remember asking my grandmother to tell me the story about the Sailor and his rose. She would make me think she wouldn't tell it, but I knew she would when I'd see her putting the kettle on.
When I was just a boy, my father and I planted an oak tree. It was somewhere far away, or at least then it seemed far away. We would go every year and visit it. It grew taller each year.
I remember she use to wrap us both tight in a blanket and start the story with "Once upon a time". Well... Once upon a time, there was a Sailor and his rose. The Sailor loved his rose very dearly, but when he would have to go to the sea, he would leave the rose behind, promising he will return.
Every year, when we would go to the oak, I would talk to it. My father would just leave us there, he knew I had a lot to tell. And when I was suppose to leave, I would promise I will return, because I knew he would be waiting.
One day, the sea started raging. It came down on the Sailor's ship like a monster, devouring it. The Sailor fought, with all his strength, crying the name of his dear Rose. But the sea was stronger.
The first year I didn't see my oak, I was age twelve. My father just said, "next year, champ". Back then I didn't know young trees brake when the wind is strong.
What he didn't know that while he was screaming her name instead of taking breaths of air, Rose was with another man.
The wind was too strong. When I took my first shot, it broke me. I tried to resist, to fight, to stay strong, but the drug was too much. I had to give in. I was just a young tree... And the winds were to strong.
Rose didn't care! Rose was drinking off another man's lips! Rose was sinking deeper and deeper into sin. Rose could feel that the Sailor was dying, but Rose didn't care!
...And my grandma never told me that. She didn't think it was important, maybe. She didn't think I could take it. But I did. And day after day, I sit and wait for him to come back.
The winds blow both ways, and the one that thought that could destroy me, never could have guessed there is a stronger wind. One so much more powerful. One that would push me back to shore. Because people aren't oaks. And one day, I came back.
When I learned that the story was actually what it is, I couldn't blame my grandmother for not telling me. I would be hurt by it. But it was a strange place, where I heard how the story goes... In a pub on the docks. I was sitting when I saw the framed piece of paper. Old, burnt, drowned. But the text was so clear... "The Sailor and his Rose".
I walked into a pub on the docks, and sat by a most beautiful woman. "Hello", I said, "My name is Sailor."
"Hi.
...I'm Rose."
When I was just a boy, my father and I planted an oak tree. It was somewhere far away, or at least then it seemed far away. We would go every year and visit it. It grew taller each year.
I remember she use to wrap us both tight in a blanket and start the story with "Once upon a time". Well... Once upon a time, there was a Sailor and his rose. The Sailor loved his rose very dearly, but when he would have to go to the sea, he would leave the rose behind, promising he will return.
Every year, when we would go to the oak, I would talk to it. My father would just leave us there, he knew I had a lot to tell. And when I was suppose to leave, I would promise I will return, because I knew he would be waiting.
One day, the sea started raging. It came down on the Sailor's ship like a monster, devouring it. The Sailor fought, with all his strength, crying the name of his dear Rose. But the sea was stronger.
The first year I didn't see my oak, I was age twelve. My father just said, "next year, champ". Back then I didn't know young trees brake when the wind is strong.
What he didn't know that while he was screaming her name instead of taking breaths of air, Rose was with another man.
The wind was too strong. When I took my first shot, it broke me. I tried to resist, to fight, to stay strong, but the drug was too much. I had to give in. I was just a young tree... And the winds were to strong.
Rose didn't care! Rose was drinking off another man's lips! Rose was sinking deeper and deeper into sin. Rose could feel that the Sailor was dying, but Rose didn't care!
...And my grandma never told me that. She didn't think it was important, maybe. She didn't think I could take it. But I did. And day after day, I sit and wait for him to come back.
The winds blow both ways, and the one that thought that could destroy me, never could have guessed there is a stronger wind. One so much more powerful. One that would push me back to shore. Because people aren't oaks. And one day, I came back.
When I learned that the story was actually what it is, I couldn't blame my grandmother for not telling me. I would be hurt by it. But it was a strange place, where I heard how the story goes... In a pub on the docks. I was sitting when I saw the framed piece of paper. Old, burnt, drowned. But the text was so clear... "The Sailor and his Rose".
I walked into a pub on the docks, and sat by a most beautiful woman. "Hello", I said, "My name is Sailor."
"Hi.
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