ABOUT THE ROSE'S THORNS

            When I was born, I was a beautiful flower, with purple velvet petals, with leaves green as the sea and with a thin stick. A rose. And I was giving love, warmth and tenderness to all around me, believing that I was meant to be the flower of love. I don’t know who was wrong: me, giving too much, or them, who did not understand… because my life was full of hands who broke me apart… not for rejoicing their lives, but for throwing me under steps which crushed me…
        When I was born again from the blood of the petals cruelly crushed in the dust, I was still wearing the scars, as a punishment for the fault of having loved too much. And since then, thorns began to grow on my thin stalk.
        Then you came to take me with infinite love, to have me scenting your nights and brightening your days. But I didn’t recognize you. And I hurt you, while you were true. When I understood, I begged for your forgiveness, but you didn’t believe me. Then, in order to get your forgiveness, I gave up my thorns again, remaining as humble and vulnerable as I used to be before you came. And then you loved me and I was the scent of your nights and the light of your days.
        Now I’m alone and vulnerable again. I can’t defend myself from anyone or anything. I remained without thorns and without you. The thorns could grow again, but I don’t want them anymore, although I am afraid. I am afraid of new wounds, as well as I’m afraid of kind hands. I am afraid of whatever it’s not you. I am only afraid of not being with you, because there is no greater harm. But I refuse my thorns, because I’m waiting for you.
        Maybe you will never come back again, and I will die crushed by the world’s cruelty, but if you come, you will be able to recognize me: among the millions flowers of the world, no one is like me: I am the only rose without thorns.

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