As fall approached the roses began to lose their luster. What was once standing tall and confident is now hunched and ghastly without the sun’s glow. Is this really a rose or the definition of seasonal depression?
There isn’t a language that binds us here in the U.S. Only our fondness of a flag. We are a melting pot that’s boiling over. Across the states we hold very little in common except the country we call home.