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Frosted Petals
Love to me, is like a rose.
Beautiful and poised
As well as it's occasional prick of the finger, because beauty hurts.
Love takes time to be Love.
It blooms and blooms until the petals can get no more than perfect.
However, it still needs tending.
It needs water.
Nutrients.
...
Love.
Stop tending to it,
And the petals fall.
One by one.
The feelings fade away.
Day by Day.
...
The rose has its seasons and so does love.
There are winters to love.
Some frigid and long.
Some cool and short.
Sometimes that frigid winter will affect the roots, covering it with frost and making it but the most fragile object.
Love can be long.
Fruitful.
Amazing.
...
Or it can be short.
Damning.
Isolating..
But..
Risking the cuts of the thorns is the point..
No..?
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Love is a peculiar subject. Unrequited. Returned. Toxic. Healthy. Corny. All are like roses. A garden, if you will. Imagine a greenhouse, all filled with the past flowers you could not keep alive. Unrequited.. you just continue to water it until you give up, putting the bucket down and see if the other would like to water it for a change. Toxic, where you don't get to feel the softness of its petals. Instead you feel the cuts and bruises of the thorns, yet no one to help you heal them.
Well...I suppose beggars can't be choosers.