Thorns and Memories

How is it that I despair at having felt happiness? For a brief moment you caressed my life with a velvet touch and subtle scent, a rose blooming from the desolation of a broken heart, only to fade away. Now the sharp sting of the thorns left behind are all that break the monotony of your absence. Is this life? To dwell in the bleak winter having tasted spring? Enduring biting winter winds for the hope of a future sunrise, only to mourn again the shortness of spring and the decay that follows?