'Rue des Roses'

She had developed a habit of buying flowers she could not afford.

Not because she needed them.

Because they reminded her who she was becoming.

A stem of roses from a market stall.

A handful of blossoms gathered on a walk home.

A bouquet purchased with money that should have gone toward something practical.

There were always more practical things.

Flowers were never practical.

That was precisely the point.

They reminded her that a life built entirely on necessity eventually forgets how to dream.

So she carried flowers through Paris.

Past cafés and bookstores.

Across bridges.

Along narrow streets lined with warm stone and possibility.

People assumed she was bringing them to someone.

The truth was much simpler.

The flowers were for her.

A promise that beauty deserved a place in her life before she had earned it.

A declaration that wonder was not a reward for becoming successful.

It was part of becoming.

This piece is dedicated to every woman who followed beauty before she understood where it was leading.

And discovered, years later, that it had been leading her home all along.