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As my lover and I meet in the darkness, I come to her with a rose in my hand. She looks upon me with a fake love in her heart. When we are close enough to hear and feel each others breath, I hold up the rose, “A rose it a lot like love, it always has two sides. One side is soft and gentle.” I say, pulling off a petal and holding in my palm, then letting a gust of wind blow it away. “The other side is sharp and pointy, which can hurt.” I say as I grip tightly on the roses stem, the thorns penetrating my skin, drawling from my hand. I stand there, letting the blood trickle from the stem to the ground. “And you, my dear, have led me to the thorns.” I say then dropping the rose on the ground, and then I turn around and go back to my dark chosen path as I leave her on my knees, hands over her face crying. I shake my head in pity, then leave, only leaving these words echoing, “Goodbye my love.”