He called her his rose. She despised the world and looked at it as if it were her worst enemy. Her whole life was based around the idea that the world around her was her biggest problem, but this was a problem with no solution.

Still, he called her his rose. Her life was an endless maze, one passage infinitely leading to another; her existence, a never-ending cycle of despair. She was certainly not aquainted with anyone and intended to keep it that way. For her, life was a garden of tangled ivy - unwanted and useless. Being alone was a convenience, as no one would ever be there to laugh at her failures. She was cold and unsympathetic, never seeing the "glass-half-full" side of each situation. She put up a wall, or four walls, to surround her portion of the ivy garden of life and shelter her from the people who could hurt her. "Social" was not in her vocabulary; nor were any of its synonyms. She needed no one and wanted no one. That is, until he came along.

He loved her like a hummingbird loves to flutter

and like the wind loves to blow.

He kissed her like the sun kisses the sea

and like the moon kisses the stars.

He held her like roots hold the earth

and like leaves hold morning dew.

He loved her like a stream loves to run

and like roses love to bloom.

Before him, she had always been lonely, without a petal or a leaf to shelter her. She may have had many thorns, but he had helped her bloom. Once she opened up, she became beautiful, he helped her grow into a magnificent flower. She was his rose and he was her stem; always there to hold her up.