The moon hung high in the velvety sky veiled by silvery wisps of cloud. Romeo could feel the light ever present touch of Rosaline against his arm; her heat radiating throughout his skin. He turned filled with the desperate urge to press his lips against the top of her head, to brush his fingers across her gossamer cheek.
Her eyes met his; as blue as the sun lit sky, as deep as the sea. Her lips parted and he held a finger against them.
"Ssh! Let us savour the moment!"
She twisted her head away and her eyes darkened. If he was a fool he might have mistaken that for desire. But he could sense something ominous stirring under her silent facade.
"What is it Rosaline? What's the matter?"
"It's you. You're the matter. I don't want you Romeo. I never have" her words sliced through him like knifes. He could suddenly feel everything. He felt the cold air frosty on his skin, he felt the whisper of grass against his legs and he felt his heart break.
He flung her to the side trying to distance himself from her poisonous, unaffected tone.
Panting he glared down upon her.
Rosaline's pale hair tumbled amongst the wild flowers, as light as sunshine, as soft as butter. Romeo remembered winding his fingers through it and he winced.
She stared up at him; a fragile doll. Her skin was as translucent as paper, her eyelashes as light as pollen. Her pale lips were bitten and bloody, her nose; a dusting of freckles.
"I'm sorry Roz. You were only joking weren't you? It was just a joke" he knelt down and helped her up. The thrumming of her heart against his warmed his frosty insides.
Of course she hadn't been serious. Rosaline and Romeo were meant to be together; it was written in the stars, predetermined.
She pulled away from his arms, tense against his body. His heart stilled. So this was really it. Tears sprung to his eyes as he stared at her wordlessly. They streaked down his cheek, dripping onto his lips, salty and treacherous.
He was so damn weak.
"I don't love you at all Romeo. There is no attraction, no fire, no passion. I want more" she stared petulantly at him. He could taste the bitterness on his tongue. Betrayal felt like an axe wound, throbbing painfully and dripping blood.
"I can't give you any more Rosaline. No one can".
"Well that's what I want. And if I die an old, lonely widow so be it. I'll die with no regrets". Her blue eyes were remorseless as she stared at him.
His voice broke as he whispered "So I'm a regret?"
She didn't answer but her silence spoke volumes.
Romeo swallowed down his anger, the rejection. He had nothing left to say. He turned and glanced at her under lowered lashes.
She stood alone in the meadow. Flowers grew from between her toes, brushing her legs, her feather light dress. With her hair tumbling around her waist like liquid silver she looked like a Goddess. Romeo wanted nothing more than to embrace her. He wanted to taste her honeyed lips, breathe in her scent; a scent of lavender candles and sunshine.
"I'll get you back" he promised roughly before turning on his heel and striding away.
For he loved her. This wasn't some petty, childish love. It was the powerful, all consuming love of a thousand saints and a thousand sinners.
Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boisterous and pricks like thorn.
