Roses have petals. Roses have thorns. They bloom. They fade. That’s the arrangement.
We pick a rose. Put it in a vase. Admire it. As it becomes wilted, we cast it aside.
A rose is one of the few things we’re perfectly willing to enjoy while knowing it won’t last. It’s a tiny rehearsal for impermanence. We rarely extend that same understanding to the rest of life.
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