Do not ask for roses if you cannot handle, their thorns . I always knew loving me would be difficult, but I thought it would be different with you. endless fantasies past, in which you have fought for my love. pensaba que tú podías aguantar las espinas.  to address a rose from its Thorns, to see her, and all of her beauty. even past the hurt  to understand the rose in her glory, to hold, Y aguantar la. To think you would long for me the way I do you. I’m aware hearts like mine no son exitos, no todos los pueden aguantar. I feel more profoundly than others may and well you you feel nothing. OKay… not to say you don’t feel anything but you don’t show your thorns and I don’t know what flower it is that you may be. You aren’t a rose. I believe it would be a Flower so catching the eye, a glimpse of you and it is as if my body was destined to reach over to you. although your stem,  leaves, and petals  fall into my hand a burn comes within. a beautiful burn, the type that make you want to hold on tighter.  the mind will say no, but your heart will continue too long.  would you be bear witness to my thorns. to say or to not say if I was capable of loving.  they say every rose comes with its thorns  thorns, but my God why would mine be especially sharp for you . I tried time after the time to get rid of-them, one by one, but it was as if every time I got rid of them another appeared.  sometimes there was some unseen thorns that only you could ever uncover. You and  past lovers became victim to crossfires. Red the color of love and passion also danger, often seen in fire. red was the color of my hair, in which you said was curious looking. I often view the world with rose colored glasses. I often dressed in white and red. red was the color of fury in my eyes when you would make me upset, not angry, but upset me in which made me cry. The color of  which my days begun with. The color of  a beautiful haze shown in sunrises and sunsets. Red was the color you wore when I first laid my eyes upon you. You said together, we were like gasoline and fire, which only a mess would come from and once again, I beg you to let the fire consume us . I know deep down hearts like mine are not meant to be loved but to love. I wanted to love you, but my thorns were in the way. I hope someday you can look past the times you were pricked and are able to climb the same thorns that have once wounded you. even after a Rose is gone and her life has Wilted, in which the petals are turned cherry and dry. They become dust and crumble far more than just life and love beyond that to be reused and repurposed. and I wouldn’t mind it. It’s beautiful actually, I’d especially love it by you.  rid of my petals. Make them into rose water. Use them as decor. Feed me into your garden, whatever it is that you wish to do with me, but hold on tight to its thorns and learn to love them the same way you would love its petals. they say men don’t receive roses, rather than  gifting a dozen roses an other, keep my one rose and cherish it.