In the end no one knows the real rose colored outcome. Or, Do we?
The year of the rose the beautiful rose. It lingers in red its stems arrayed with thorns. Pushing through the dirt of the earth rising above its own birth…
How glorious are the treasures of the Truth….
“We got lost in the sense of our love to be reborn. In the those moments of doubt you took me by the hand to guide me though the history of us. Thank you. Even in those subtle moments of pain you comforted me with your grace. How beautiful. Now we are on our way to Victory. The world awaits our story of survival to unfold before its waning eyes. What shall we tell them? We shall tell them that truth doesn’t die in darkness it conquers with its light.”