The Rose, the Weed.

photo by hungrybison

I once loved a rose. I cared for and protected her.

In return she offered me the softness of her petals, her fragrance and her beauty.

One day the rose disappeared and in her place now grows a weed.

I tend to the weed.

It  has thorns that  often cause me pain.

The thorns catch my clothing so I don’t wander too far.

I am bound to the weed. The weed is demanding.

In my mind I remember that I once loved a rose.


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