there is a misconception that roses are fragile. a belief that their fate is to lie in wait, in fear, their beauty so great it could never manage to be strong enough to withstand the dangers that surround it. for beauty inspires admiration, and love. and though these are as essential to roses as to every other living thing on the planet, the fervour, the feverish love inspired by the great beauty of a rose is simply too much for them to bear. indeed, roses were never meant to bear anything in great measure, other than beauty. and so this love, this great, deep and wide love - it swallows the roses. like water, it washes over them and washes them away. like water, it drowns them just a little bit every day, until there is nothing left of them, until their very essence has been usurped, overpowered, replaced by what people said was love. and that, people say, is the very best of scenarios, the kindest and the least of all the dancing dangers. the least, because beauty inspires love and admiration, but also ignites jealousy, hate, envy, desire, possession. And once these have flamed there is no way to even tell which of them it was to begin with, the only thing left behind are ashes, burnt crisps and wisps of singed petals. It is because their very nature confines them to this space between a rock and a hard place that people say roses are fragile. but. this denies the strength required to wear your petals as well as the weight of everyone else's petals. beauty can be fragility can be strength can be you.