There is something beautiful about the rose. In its ocean of rich reds there lays a glorious scent followed by the security of it’s stem. The layers of spikes dotted around to stop those pesky neighbours.
Roses are a metaphor for many things , if you search deep enough you’ll find the gems of this world hidden in plain sight.
As an individual I admire the way the rose carries itself, bold and beautiful with a backbone.
I see why the rose is a symbol of love, for love is courageous and you must be to pick a rose. Although once picked the love may die….
They say if “you love a flower then don’t pick it for it will die” Love must be grown and harvested for longevity. These are the similarites of love and life waiting to be appreciated.
I once picked a rose. The most beautiful one of the crop. At first I shaped my life around this rose, watering it with praise and committment over the years till I realised I did not receive much back. This realisation led to the slow death of the rose for it relied on me to grow. All I know is it was not fair.
When a rose can grow on it’s own, I knew I made the mistake of picking it. My heart now has a rose carved into it, the imprint of love will never leave you, even if you failed it.
To some a rose may just be a flower. To others it can be a symbol of the past, present and future. To me I’ve learned the value of life and how we are all just a bunch of roses tricked into hoping we get picked.
However all this time love grows from inside us, we are the rose in the form of humans. We don’t need to be picked. We just want to be admired without the prick.