The Roses

Roses are like people.

We are all hopelessly affected by our surroundings.

We all start out as beautiful little flowers.

Soft.

Gentle.

Naive.

Our petals grow and unfold beautifully as we grow.

Occasionally, someone will stop to look at us.

Maybe even to smell our beautiful fragrance.

But then they just continue on their way.

Forgetting the flower, that has become so insignificant to them now.

Yet was important enough for them to stop and observe only moments before.

Summer comes and we strain under the heat.

Hoping for some rain.

A breeze.

Any form of relief really.

Storms come and go.

Winds rip us apart petal by petal.

Until we are all but a fragment of the beautiful fragile flower we once were.

Winter comes and we go numb.

Under the cold.

No sun or warmth graces our now crumpled petals.

Our petals are all gone.

Our stem is dry and bruised.

Just as we are withered,

Retracted for the end we are sure is at hand.

The sun comes out, and its spring again.

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