• Will you accept this rose? It’s not much, but it’s from me and I mean it. And if it’s the thought that counts, would it bother you too much, knowing that I think of you? Would it hurt if you smiled for me? Even though you won’t speak, I imagine your voice, your words. I imagine how it would feel if you looked my way, just once, because you wanted to see who I was. To see who i was.
    I’ve had all the thorns taken away. It won’t p***k your finger. All that’s left is beauty. Would it make you sad to know that this rose has nothing left to protect it? That it’s safety is with you, if you would take it? What do you feel, knowing it’s bare and exposed, laid at the feet of the world to trample or save? Would you accept it then, even if it was only out of kindness?
    Dew is falling from the petals. It won’t fill much space. The promise of morning is falling. It won’t wet your hand for long, just enough time to make you feel. To let you know that it’s there. That it does exist. That it will fade away in the heat of your displeasure, if only to ease your anger.
    It won’t last if it isn’t put in a vase soon. It needs to have water. It will dry up if it’s left this way. Would you cry if it wilted away? If it could no longer go on? …If it lost the will to live? Would you give it the water it needs to go on? Would you save it?
    The leaves are bending. If you take it, will you hold it gently, so that the leaves don’t bend anymore? So the tender petals won’t bruise? Will you care for it?
    The petals are falling. They softly hit the floor, but still they bruise. Won’t you accept this rose? It won’t last much longer.
    It’s beauty it fading. The dew is scattered beneath it. All the petals have blown away. The leaves are bent and misshapen. The stem is withered and dry. Just one kind word from you and it will bloom with new life, becoming more beautiful than it ever was. One word from you will save it. Won’t you?
    Won’t you save the rose?