“My mother told me a story about the time my father asked her out on their first date. He was in love with her and chased after her wherever she went. She said he’d asked her on dates a thousand times before, and every time she would ask him why. He would give these shallow reasons, like her beauty or her smile and so on. So, she said no. Then, one day, he came to her with a single rose in his hands, the thorns plucked from the stem. He handed it to her and asked her on a date. When she asked why, he admitted that he was dirt poor and stole that rose from his neighbor’s garden. The owner caught him and shot at him for trespassing. Clearly, he got away unscathed except for his bleeding hand. The thorns had pricked him, and he couldn’t fathom giving my mother a rose when it could hurt her. So, he sheared them from the stem and ran straight to her. He told her that despite his nearly dying, he’d do it again. That he’d put himself through hell just to see her smile. That he would take all her pain so she would suffer none.”
―
H.D. Carlton,
Phantom
