Rose rested on her branch, watching passer-bys shuffle along. Some would stop to admire the petals and inhale the sweet fragrance, others continued with indifference. She never understood why any flower wanted to be plucked. She thought to herself; why would anyone want to be loved? To be the constant obsession of another, burdened with the responsibility of being forever beautiful. And there was the issue of the thorns on the branches. Everyone wanted the petals, but without the thorns. Unfortunately, without the branch of thorns, the petals had no anchor to rest on. She wanted to yell to the others; why would you want to be the center of another’s universe? Is it not much better being just a part of it?
A passer-by stopped by Rose. It made her very nervous. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet…Shakespeare,’ the passer-by bent down and inhaled the sweet smell of Rose’s nectar.
It made Rose think; without the rosy smell and beauty, would she even still be a rose, a flower? Before she could conclude on that, she felt a tug, and then a snip. It was her day to be plucked. A life of despair flashed before her eyes. From this moment she had only the withering of her petals and fading of her fragrance to look forward to. It was only a matter of time till she was washed-up and ditched for a fresher rose.
The passer-by looked on Rose with tenderness. ‘Even after your perfume wears off and the last of your petals wither, you will still be mine, thorns and petals. On my wall you will be framed and in my memory you will be held, untouched by the sands of time. Love must nurture, never possess.’