Love no matter how beautiful or strong just like a rose will someday die and fade away, but in its place new loves and roses may blossom if given the oppertunity. I loved the part where you said "The rose was dying in my hand. I think my blood was poison.
I think it still is." I think when we lose somebody we love no matter how it happens we always blame ourselves to a certain extent and that part was perfect at describing the pain we all feel. Nice work 5/5 again