A bee saw a stunning rose she got tempted to pick. Bees do not really like roses but there was something different about that rose. It was a rose so fascinating to the point that the soul in her care not of the thorns, and all the elements around it. The bee just want to hold that rose in her hands and then for it to be always within her sight, within her reach, wherever she go. But what kind of joy would she have, or will she even have a drop of it, if she would choose to call that rose as her own or push herself to it, but then would have to press it in her diary? It was a blossoming rose and the soul cannot afford to kill it in her hands, so it would be far better for it to stay there and continue growing. After all, that was what true love is all about. And so life for the bee went on and in moments when she got drown with memories and the scent of it, she consoled herself with the thought that it was the rightest thing to do, but forgot that because it was a stunning rose, others got tempted too, and the next time she found herself flying towards it and her eyes traveled to see that rose again, she couldn't find it anymore and it was already pressed on somebody else’s diary...
