Live it Like Ansh

I’ve always loved roses.

They grow with thorns wrapped around their stems,
guard their softness like a secret,
push away hands that reach too quickly –
and still, they’re adored.

They carry love in crimson and white,
protect themselves without explanation,
and when they’re gone,
their fragrance lingers in rooms they’ve left behind.

Maybe there’s something to learn here.
Maybe we’re allowed to be both –
soft and sharp,
loved and guarded,
beautiful in our refusal to be easy.

Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us, too.