I saw him walking my way and wondered if he would ever see me.  I wasn’t fully developed — more like being closed in and trapped in a box for a long period of time.  I wanted to be watered, wanted the sun to come out.  Every day I tried to grow more than the others; yet, every time he passed by, he looked at me and shook his head no.  Even though I am tiny, I tried to be just like the others but knew I could never be like the rest — colorful, bloomed, and big.  He picked up all of the others but never me, probably thinking that I was not as beautiful.

Then, one day, he had no choice.  I was the only one left.  I knew he did not want to touch me with my deadly thorns, but he did it anyway.  With his finger bleeding, he carried me to a vase and then set me down next to a hospital bed. I would never be beautiful; yet, I would have meaning.