Introduction/Prologue

I watched the rose bush outside of my window; being thrown side to side sporadically as the gusts of the not-so-summer breeze took hold. My eyes fixated on the purest rose petals, clinging on to dear life to avoid being carried away half way across the country. Ruby-red, delicate, strong. What were they holding on for? To prove the season's impulsive burst of turbulence wrong. To prove the wind wrong all together. Determined to prove everyone wrong.

I am no bird.

I am a rose. I am the thorn that pricks you back into reality. I am strong. I am determined.

I am not insane - like they say.