I stand back and watch me friends lives move forawrd, like from bud to blossom. Whiloe mine is devored and consumed by misery. I was born into life to not be happy, only to help others find joy. Just a lowly gardner, never the flower, some thing pure and atractive. Always the weed that lossenes the soil, to make way for the desired flowers. Not allowed to wither and decay, only to be plucked and start again. Mother nature's own design of dispair. If only I had thorns, instead I am left unprotected and exposed. Left raw and ugly, never to be happy. What a fool I am, the weed in your garden of being, where I'm just a friend and nothing more, nore will I ever be any one's flower.
shojo_Princess Community Member 
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