Of A Rose

She would come by and look at the flower everytime she was free. She showered attention on it like nothing else in her posession. That was what gave the flower its value - its owner's attention. Bathed with love, the Rose blossomed from the thornful-stem. The brilliant red shone in contrast to its green leaves. Its gorgeous curves resembled the dangerously pouty lips on Angelina Jolie.

Yes, it was an undeniable beauty.

As much as I believe in fairy tales and that love might last forever, this isn't a story about that. Soon enough the girl became bored by the Rose's presence. If absence makes the heart grows fonder then presence makes the heart take things for granted. The Rose was probably as pretty as ever, but it stood there, unable to withstand the test of time.

It had became unloved.

Maybe the girl was trying to play a game with it. Man is cruel. Maybe it was a test, to see if beautiful things were fragile. Ahh... a popular misconception.

But contrary to expectation, the Rose didn't wilt. It stood there, brave and strong, because it could. Its duty was to put a smile on all who laid eyes on it, even if it didn't happen as frequently. It was determined to do its job well.

Because no one needs another to carry on with life.