The blessing and the curse of being a psychic. For years it seems like my Angels and Spirit Guides have been dropping roses beside me—teasing my human-self with the act of falling in love. In the mornings I'll see a red one beside my pillow. Stem perfectly trimmed. Petals softly touching the sheets as if it was placed by the delicate touch of a hand. Even on occasion, the purity of a white one will fall on my keyboard during the most chaotic moments of life. It's a nice reminder that every worry I stare into the eyes of is microscopic; that someone who cares deeply about me is out there floating among the stars.
- Legend Of Veena