Thorn

One of the indulgences when I get the paycheck for the month, or two or three, is to head down to the florist near home to pick up some flowers. I am too much of a scrooge to pay for lilies and hence often end up with a bunch of affordable roses. Beggars can't be choosers. As much as I love roses, it completely astounds me how something of such immense beauty has, through evolution, crafted such a vicious defence mechanism. And yet, the rose is often symbolic of the profession of love for most.

It seems like love and pain have some sort of a symbiotic relationship, even in nature.