Her world is one in which words are bullets, and mouths are guns. Roses are known for their thorns, rather their beauty. She’s wrapped in a constant game of “he loves me, he loves me not” with each falling petal representing the influence of others opinions on her; each thorn piercing her fragile skin when she encounters an odd number of rose petals. In a world in which words are bullets, and mouths are guns, he is the only rose known for his beauty, rather his thorns.
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