The roses I have planeted are dying. I planted them just for you; to smell, to smell the love they bring. It has to come from you this time - that 'I love you'.
I told you several times in the past yet you brushed it off to the point I stopped believing anything would come from it. So now it is your turn.
Are you willing to throw it all away? Are you willing not to take the rose I am holding; vibrate and pure, soft but made of steel.
So take the chance
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