The rose is the perfect symbol.
Of life.
Of love.
Even of death.
It starts out so small and fragile and can be one of the most magnificent of all flowers. The most delicate.
Even the smallest of blossoms are part of the larger bush. Without the smaller flowers beside the larger ones who would notice the magnificence of a well tended bush?
The thorns that many florists strip off to protect the lavished hands of the rich and over protected are one of the most beautiful parts.
They teach you to hold the flower gently, while the bobbing of the blossom reminds you to hold on firmly too.
Without the thorns it's an empty symbol. It's beauty is without any depth of character.
Each colour adds a different depth of meaning to the flower itself.
White for purity.
Yellow for friendship.
And crimson for love.
A dozen crimson roses signifies a deep and profound love for a person.
But why then do you hand me these dozen roses?
You know yellow would be best.
You know that I am not for you.
I've told you this.
You wear your heart in your eyes and look into mine. I know you can see your pain echoed in my eyes. I can feel yours. I do not feel this way towards you, but there have been others.
Too many others.
I have hurt you. And I'm sorry for this.
I could lie to myself.
I could tell you that I care. That the roses were the sign I was waiting for.
But a relationship based on a lie, any lie, is a lie in itself. And I will not do that to myself, let alone others.
You are trying to hold onto something that cannot be held.
Be careful how you tread.
I am a rose too.
Infinite possibilities-A writer's guild
This is a writer's guild where all can gather for feedback and advice on all mediums of writing. Plus it's a great place for conversation.
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