The Most Beautiful Rose In The Garden

I stepped outside to see the rose. The first time I have seen true beauty. I picked the most beautiful rose from a garden full of blooms, all knowing it would die in time. I had to have the rose, to hold, to cherish. Every imperfection reveals its true uniqueness, standing alone against the ever changing perfection of the garden. I close my eyes and hold it tight in my hand. As it would my blood begins to drip from my palm, but my anger does not surface. It only recedes. My eyes open wide, and I no longer see the beauty of the garden. I only see the conformity. I reach for a shovel, and remove the contents of the garden until nothing remaims, except for the rich fertle soil. I kneel in the garden to replant the rose. Hoping it will grow into a beautiful bush. That will fill the garden with other roses, that are just as unique and beautiful as the rose that opened my eyes to the beauty of the garden