Reminiscing on Romantic Roses

         The creature known as the human being is subject to the effects of dozens of emotions, all of which greatly modify our own behavior. The most powerful of these emotions is love; it causes both brilliant inspiration and horrendous stupidity. Between the logical lover and the insanely infatuated this emotion of concern and adoration has led to both unlimited creation and destruction. Although humans can love many things, places, ideas, memories, the most influential subject of human love is a single other person. With that feeling, that adoration toward another being, that obsession with another’s existence, there comes a desire to show it, and we as humans have chosen a most unnatural emblem for our romantic feelings, the rose, a flower. It is a strong, ever defensive thing, but it withers and dies most rampantly. It can be fake, or real, or natural, but none of these things are eternal, or worthwhile.
         The first sign of a person’s love is the purchasing of a living thing, to present to their subject. A green stem with a red flower, thorns lining it’s exterior. These thorns scream that their love will defend you, the vibrant color of the flower is their passion, it shouts at the world its affection, it lets you know just what it’s about. But, most important, this flower is alive, this passion breathes, its heart beats! Yet, it will wither, it will die, it is not long lasting. But can you preserve it? Do you dare make this passion cold and hard to keep it in that condition? Or do you let it flourish for what little time it has and then let it pass? Both ways the flower dies and a new one must be sought out.
          An option secondary to the original, not as fragrant but just as beautiful, is the fake rose. This flower will be there forever. It shouts the same vibrant passion as the purchased real rose, but it lacks the natural defensive desires. Everyone will look and say, “That is a beautiful rose,” but eventually everyone will see that the rose, the passion, is not real, it is mere infatuation, undesirable at its core, only there for appearances. This flower will melt in the heat of passion, its beauty lost, its power over the heart wasted. What did this flower gain from being created, it was unnatural, and it died at the hands of its purpose.
          Then there is the overlooked flower, but quite possibly the most natural passion, the flower in soil. Do not disturb this plant, as you would not disturb your love, it is to grow naturally, and die naturally. This thing is beautiful, and it can be smelled by everyone, and admired by anyone. People see this flower, this passion, and say “Ah, a beautiful rose bush, someone has tended this well,” and you have. This is the epitome of affection. It runs rampant and devours other things, its vine-like stems wrapping themselves about whatever is nearest them. It defends not a single flower, but many flowers of the same passion. It is a love for a single thing, which over time develops into a love for many. This is the woman’s family, and your family, and your children. These roses are beautiful and if left undisturbed, only tended enough to maintain the nutrients they soak up with their roots, they will flourish and there will be many of them. But, one must be wary, for if they thrive heartily and their soil is not enriched constantly, they will wither and die one by one, and the healthy passions shall be dragged down by the dead ones; and one must always be wary of the intrusion of another bush that will draw away from your roses’ available nutrients.
          In this way is the rose both the perfect and the worst representation of love. For those who use them correctly the rose becomes an emblem of their eternal passion, and they might preserve or replace them in such a manner that everyone understands just how beautiful and perfect their version of passion is. But if one enjoys a passion without understanding its roots, their love is wasted and their flowers all end in their most tragic forms. Yet, there is always the chance that one will find that desired flower, that perfect passion, that makes everything worthwhile, all the flowers lost before it will fade away in that fragrance, and any other color will pale in comparison to the beauty of those life-filled crimson petals.