"Her life is made of rose petals."
I say
And I am crying quietly now
"Mine is made of thorns, and I am always getting pricked and she is always basking in the sun."
You look at me and say,
"Rose petals will wither, but your thorns are only making you stronger. You will be protected most against predators; but she will be destructed by the first demon that lays it's tight holding grip upon her petals."