A laker loss

This is hard
beyond understanding
to the old me
the one who ached
for it so deeply

It must be pruned
it must be fed and dressed
and painful
It was said that every rose has it's thorn
but I say

Every thorn must break skin
to keep the rose so red with blood

And deep oxygen rich blood
the kind which runs out
like a well
gushing and life giving

You cut hard,
grating me
challenging me to leave
you fear my absence
and nearly push me away

You are the rose who does not sit idly
but shoots her thorns like arrows

But i wont let go
I can't.
It hurts
Im sorry
if it hurts you too

But every second is so worth it.