A rose takes center stage—but this story isn’t about the rose. It’s about what no one notices, and why that might matter more.
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Not the rose. Not the lighting. Not even the softness of its color.
What mattered was the thorn near the bottom—blunted, bored, quietly losing its job. No one photographs that part. They miss the history in the scar tissue. The dullness of a point that spent its life protecting the bloom. The battle damage that made the beauty possible.
But maybe it is.
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