Someone tried to tell me love isn't like roses.
Love is exactly like roses.

At first, they're beautiful,
The smell consumes you.

After a while they starts to die,
But they're still pretty.

In the end, the roses are dead,
The pretty smell is gone.

But you never throw them away
Because the memory of how beautiful
They once were
Still lingers with you.

So you hope
And pray that one day the roses will be as they once were,
But they won't.