Love is like a rose. You have to start from the beginning, and watch it grow. You have to water it and feed it and care for it. Then, you watch, as it transforms for a budding flower into a blossomed rose. And, when the moment feels right, you reach out and pick it from the stem. But, no matter which way you hold the rose, you'll always feel the little prick of the thorns, sticking into your hand. But, do you throw the rose away because you were foolish enough to let it prick you? No. You hold on tight and you don't throw it away, because at the end of the day, your wounds heal, and the rose is still a rose. A beautiful, ever blossoming rose.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
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