This life isn’t a fairy tale,
that’s what I’ve learned,
there’s an end to everything,
even the things that shouldn’t have one.
But when did Belle ever give up?
When did she back away in
the face of the Beast?
When did she stop looking beyond,
into the darkness,
to see that rose finally bloom with beauty?


That rose, the one that Belle saw,
was you.
I, Belle.
I saw you, everything perfect among life. Blooming with beauty, admist the darkness of my anxiety, beyond the Beast of depression, you were my rose, jacob. And I’m no longer afraid to face that maybe a few petals have wilted.