A white rose.
My favorite kind.
Pure and beautiful.
I was recieved a single white rose one day.
I heard a trick of making it last.
I hung it upsidedown on my cieling fan,
and dried it up.
It's been a year.
I still have it.
It's petals are all still intact.
I'm waiting to give it to you.
It's not much.
All it is,
is a rose,
still white,
but wrinkled like an old person,
and tinted golden.
It is fragile,
like my heart.
You have to be careful.
This is a test.
Can you really handle keeping my heart?
Just like my heart,
my rose can shatter and break.
Handle with care.
