Sometimes it just seems that love is not enough, does it?
Suddenly, and for the first time, he was at the center of his own life, living it and loving it.
Was memory always as much of a burden as it could sometimes be a blessing.
Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being. No one was shallow. Not really.
Sometimes now was enough. Sometimes it was everything.
Perhaps she was just looking for love in the wrong places. In all the safe places. What if love was not safe at all?