[Image source] (https://pin.it/3F7bU0ZlJ)
Every rose is adorned with thorns, not as a flaw, but as a shield for its delicate petals, a guardian of its soul. So reveal to me the thorns you bear—those wounds concealed in silence, those scars hidden from the world.
Show me the sharp edges that guard your heart, and I shall bare my hands, unafraid of pain, unshaken by the crimson trail that sacrifice demands. For what is beauty without its trials? What is love without the blood it asks for?
Do not fear the sting of your thorns, for they are but the whispers of your resilience, the marks of your journey through storms and fire. Let me hold them as they pierce my flesh, for even the wound is sacred if it is born of devotion.
Know this: I do not seek a rose unscarred, nor a heart untouched by sorrow. It is the thorns that speak of truth, the pain that tells of life. So bring me your darkness, your jagged edges and fragile bloom, and I will not falter. My hands were made to cradle the ache of the world, to bleed willingly for the promise of your light.
O rose with thorns, I see not your peril, but your beauty. And if to love you is to bleed, then let me bleed until the rivers of my heart flow with the fullness of what it means to truly hold you.
~TrueMori森.
