I can’t exactly remember when some of my dreams turned into reality, but it’s strange how they suddenly ceased to be dreams. And then – what? A man without dreams is like a rose without petals. Only thorns, dried up, left to frighten ill-intentioned fingers.

Someone wise wrote: “If you love a flower, don’t pick it up.” I haven’t seen this warning earlier or maybe I was just too young to understand so I’ve cut some buds here and there, I admit.

trembling
in a mild breeze
drops of dew

Linked to Carpe Diem #1419 Rose Garden (kikobun)