They say that, every time a Rose dies, somewhere, someplace, someone has reached their final destination- or, as some call it, fates end. Roses, just like life, follow the flawed essence that we call time. It grows, becoming the im-perfect , yet beautiful flower that we stare at for hours. Every Rose has a thorn, a painful, yet elegant pinprick on its existence. If it never had these thorns then, it would never be what it was meant to be, or, in this case, who they are meant to be.
A Rose is flawed.
A Rose is beautiful.
A Rose is painful.
A Rose shows a world, that is fated to fall.