Look at the flowers, feel the leaves, notice the smell. When looking at a rose, we feel 

 

an attraction to life. Roses are given from one lover to another, to show one’s love, to ask for 

 

forgiveness, or to thank them. They are beautiful when they represent love and life, but, as soon 

 

as a black spot appears, off with its head. Nevertheless I’ve felt the petals after they’ve died and 

 

dried; they feel like the parchment of the Old Testament, old and worn and full of wisdom. I 

 

want a vase of only the dead, frail and dried blooms. These are the blooms that can last forever. 

 

All living things fade, but the dead live on. I do not want a rose bush without thorns; I want 

 

a thorn bush without roses. Beauty fades, but the hideousness inside of us all stays until our 

 

last word. I want a garden of dead things, so that when I die, I will be in the company of the 

 

immortal.