The injustice of heart

Perhaps every person is a rose. Beautiful, full, capable of great levels of seduction. But we all have our thorns. We’ll all prick when held just the right way. Perhaps it’s not a failing but an inevitability.

We fawn over the way others let their petals droop. We wish we were as effortless or graceful as they. We wonder if their thorns are smaller, less sharp. But we fail to remember that the same natural forces that compel their petals compel ours. That we may have uniquities but we are not different flowers. They are much the same as we are and, most especially, we are much the same as them.

In the end, we’re largely beautiful beings. Our flaws are an unsubstantial part of our makeup and they are often just an inconvenience. But we see them as great detractors. A sore upon the world. If only we could watch our petals unfold the way that others do.

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