And when the rose dried and withered, useless, you throw it away. It has served its purpose; but you didn’t love it, because you don’t throw away a beauty that you love, you water it.

a. degamo

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Her heart was out in the open, ripped from her chest, carelessly dispatched, exposed to harsh elements. Rain poured over it, and hail and insects. The gusts of wind would whistle its wrath, the sun has dried it up, like ears of corn harvested. How could someone be so careless? Leaving such a precious organ to the gutter

a. degamo

image: Pinterest

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