TW: None
A field of blue,
moving gently along with the wind,
A gentle spring breeze,
Gentle enough to feel at peace
Somewhere in that field,
stands a different flower,
A singular red rose,
seemingly out of place
Crimson red petals,
Viridian stems,
Thorns seemingly threatening,
Although, if you're careful,
They're just as beautiful as the petals
A singular red rose,
seemingly out of place,
However, unknowing to it,
there were others in the field too
Single red roses,
Scattered across the field of blue,
All seemingly alone,
Not realising there are others like them
The peace disturbed,
By a figure, slowly walking in the field,
Picking up flowers along the way,
but which flowers?
They could have chose the blue,
like everyone else did,
After all, there's much more blue,
than there is red.
However, in their hand,
is flowers with those crimson petals,
Viridian stems,
and threatening but beautiful thorns.
They go along, picking up the flowers,
Holding them together, bringing them together,
Deeming them more beautiful,
more unique than the blue,
They were chosen,
chosen to be reunited.
Back at a home,
the seemingly alone roses,
are now no longer alone,
For they have others like them,
staying together, standing together.
A bouquet of roses,
stand in a beautiful vase,
In the centre of a room,
They were no longer alone.