The cliche’, love compared to a rose… beautiful to smell, to view, but dare to grasp it and the thorns will puncture the skin. Tiny and painful wounds from each thorn, individually do not amount to much, but as a whole the pain from many hurts culminates and brings one to the knees begging to cease. Yet we indulge in the beauty and idealism and pine for more. Suddenly, everything turns red; angry, passionate. Blood pumps from a heart divided by love and hate. It doesn’t always turn out like that, but about 90% of the time… it still is lovely, though! So keep picking those roses carefully! Cheers!