"I disliked roses. Yes, quite extraordinary thing to do. I never understood the pureness of a rose, specially a red rose. But now, if I say quite astonishingly.. I love a rose, a red rose. Yet, it's far gone beyond my reach.
History has his mark upon this beautiful red rose. In the colour of blood to the softness like a feather in it's petals, it gives happiness to a young girl, binds the unbind, gives comfort in shattering times and finally reaches the heart of unreachable. But sometimes one can also be irrecoverably wounded by a thorn of a red rose. Thousands of writers over the undying centuries have written uncountable things around a red rose.. Love, hatred, undying passion, desire.. But a single tear drop on petal of a red rose, when it is given hand to hand, is profoundly bound with thousands of unspeakable words.
I've heard and seeing somewhere that a black rose signifies "goodbye". A black rose that I may have now, but I forever love a red rose, a red rose which its color is from me, which its wetness is from me, and which its thorns attached to me."
“But he that dares not grasp the thorn
Should never crave the rose. ” - Anne Bronte (1820 - 1849)
