Rosette Love

The Desk, Uncategorized

Love, as cliche as it may sound is similar to a rose they say. I am at a point in my life where I’m beginning to understand this metaphor. To love someone is to hurt as it is adoring a rose and getting pricked. Then I asked, how come others can touch a thorny rose without getting hurt while I bask in my own bloodbath? A lot of answers came up, but the best so far is : Honey, that rose is an asshole, doesn’t even belong in your garden. It’s not worthy to be called a rose. As true as I may believe so, the prick still stuns me.
Spending all energy and effort not to mention talent to water that flower which apparently is made out of plastic. That piece of realistically non Bio-degradable material struts around as if it did nothing. Clean conscience. Such creature baffles me and yet I desire for its own goodness. Couldn’t find it in me to speak ill about it; even defended his name.
Everyday is a reminder; every whisper and inside jokes. I sponged them.
A price to pay. For being naked and true to something unreal.

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