The Glass Castle.
It's thorns, sharp and untrusting, keeping away unwanted fingers, pulling leaves and breaking petals. It's stem branching, connecting to all it's sisters, close, comforted, bonded together.
Cold, winter kissed fingers, negotiate the devils horns, gripping it tightly but with a gentle caress, pulling it away from it's sisters, it quivered, a drop of almost frozen dew falling to the cold hard ground from its blood red petals as it's carried into the warm.
Placed in a glass castle, adored by all eyes that see, it is not naive, it knows that it's life is shadowed, shortened by it's adventure, dying quicker than if it had not been torn from it's sisters.
The rose didn't mind, for it would rather have a short life, it's beauty appreciated daily, every dying and falling petal noticed, than a long life, hidden in the mass of it's family, never outshining any of them. Never having that chance to live in the glass castle.
Cold, winter kissed fingers, negotiate the devils horns, gripping it tightly but with a gentle caress, pulling it away from it's sisters, it quivered, a drop of almost frozen dew falling to the cold hard ground from its blood red petals as it's carried into the warm.
Placed in a glass castle, adored by all eyes that see, it is not naive, it knows that it's life is shadowed, shortened by it's adventure, dying quicker than if it had not been torn from it's sisters.
The rose didn't mind, for it would rather have a short life, it's beauty appreciated daily, every dying and falling petal noticed, than a long life, hidden in the mass of it's family, never outshining any of them. Never having that chance to live in the glass castle.