Love is a flower. It needs devotion to stay alive. But too much attention and care will drown it or burn it to a crisp. Some begin to sprout and grow but are quickly mistaken as a weed and yanked out before the opportunity to bloom arrives.
I was a sproutling. I was mistaken as a weed when placed by a rose, a dandelion holds no power over a rose. Everyone admires a rose yet none even consider a dandelion as a beauty or symbol of anything but struggle in a world full of beauty's, plucked only to see reflections of dumb questions, before being left on the ground. Alone and hopeless.
Now all I am is a broken Romantic Cynic.
