A Rose

"What's in a name? that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet. "- Romeo and Juliet William Shakespeare

A rose, such a beautiful piece of nature. From its velvet petals to its vibrant colors. How peaceful and delicate it looks sitting there in its bush. You wrap your fingers around it, to pluck it away from the rest and keep it for yourself. Away from the rest it still holds is outer beauty, but gradually it changes. Your hand wrapping around its stem only to be pricked by a thorn. Small bits of the rose that can tear away your flesh and make you bleed. You don't abandon it though just because it hurt you once, no, you keep it close and savor its beauty and the way it makes you feel alive. As the days go though, the pedals begin to fall away, stripping away the beauty. As you try to take care of your rose that thorn rips away at your skin a few more times, cutting you open more and causing you to bleed. The rose though wilts, its petals darken and dry up. The steam closes off at the end, killing all the life within. The smell grows dark and dank, causing you to turn away in repulsion. Yet, the thorns still stay, still sharp enough to cut at you if you choose to try again with the dying rose. Yet you once loved that rose once.

Heartache seems to be the same way. You find that one you think is the one, you pick it to be yours and keep close. Yet slowly the beauty of the outside begins to wilt away, leaving you looking at it longing for what there used to be. Then there's the inside, its closing up and shutting down, slowly killing everything around it. Yet, the heart stays, the thorns of the pain tearing at it. Then there lays the choice, to stand by your dying rose and refuse to give up on it or to let it die and find another rose to pick.

I'm in a very confused state at the moment, I usually only get this way when I'm menstruating, but that isn't the case. I feel like I'm heading for a mental break down and I can't seem to hold the break down no matter how hard I try. I love that rose greatly and don't want to abandon it, but I'm afraid that rose has already left me.