Poets and writers are wont to compare love to a rose, beautiful, sometimes painful, and quick to fade. It's a foolish, short-sighted comparison. If you try to take love, sever it from the earth and sun which foster it, of course it will wilt.
No, true love is like a rose bush. It must be tended, nurtured, some blood will likely be spilled, but in the name of something astonishing, a unique dichotomy of fragility and resilience. It will not always be in bloom, but with care and time it will, with each season, create a greater, more enduring bounty.
No comments:
Post a Comment