he loves flowers. He just does. Looking at them, their perfectionate beauty unfolding within his fingers, as he unravels their hidden secrets deep inside their yellow petals.
As tantalizing as it may be, loving that flower is not because of her yellow petals, nor the reddish cheeks; loving her is not because of her perfect resemblance to sublime beauty, loving her not in separate entities, but he loves that flower because of everything and because of simply, love.
The love that morphs into an act of belief.
He sees perfection in her when he believes her and in her, when he melds with her to become one in essence. He becomes the flower that once blossomed in his fingers and she transforms into him.
An act of belief
Once upon a time, when time went idle and ready to welcome a weaved meet cute, at the perfect space and time, on that one day on the 4th, He receives not a red flower, but one seed. Yet He was overwhelmed, as he planted this seed deep inside (...), watching her grow every 7th day. Watering her, talking to her and enriching her with his soul. He still is not seeing a flower perfected, but He has the passion he shares with the growing seed. He waits and is waiting as beauty is unearthed from within a singular seed. He glimpses green. Another 7th week, he feels red. On the 7th week of the 7th month, at 7 past 7, he holds her in his hands. There she twinkles and glares with moisturing freshness. Her twinkeling tears enriching her petals, watering her. And her smell, an exotic perfume that enlivens the soul. He believed and He witnessed his belief beautifying into an unending love, a love that started with a small singular seed, and through a melodic symphony of onness grew to become a flamboyant flower.
As tantalizing as it may be, loving that flower is not because of her yellow petals, nor the reddish cheeks; loving her is not because of her perfect resemblance to sublime beauty, loving her not in separate entities, but he loves that flower because of everything and because of simply, love.
The love that morphs into an act of belief.
He sees perfection in her when he believes her and in her, when he melds with her to become one in essence. He becomes the flower that once blossomed in his fingers and she transforms into him.
An act of belief
Once upon a time, when time went idle and ready to welcome a weaved meet cute, at the perfect space and time, on that one day on the 4th, He receives not a red flower, but one seed. Yet He was overwhelmed, as he planted this seed deep inside (...), watching her grow every 7th day. Watering her, talking to her and enriching her with his soul. He still is not seeing a flower perfected, but He has the passion he shares with the growing seed. He waits and is waiting as beauty is unearthed from within a singular seed. He glimpses green. Another 7th week, he feels red. On the 7th week of the 7th month, at 7 past 7, he holds her in his hands. There she twinkles and glares with moisturing freshness. Her twinkeling tears enriching her petals, watering her. And her smell, an exotic perfume that enlivens the soul. He believed and He witnessed his belief beautifying into an unending love, a love that started with a small singular seed, and through a melodic symphony of onness grew to become a flamboyant flower.
