BLOSSOM.

Forever the hands of flowers will spill out intricate gifts.

They blossom for your loneliness, forever soveirgn in their beauty, connected as one with the cycles of nature; of life and death.

The complex, yet simple, spiral of creation is a Pandora’s Box within a cornucopia.

Creation is unlimited.

Welcome to your life, little flower, which implies your death.

Listen to the whispers of sunshine and songs sung by rain, soft orchestras of snowflakes to ease away thy pain, death is a transition, into wondrous lands.

Welcome to the nature of a populated world, where buildings compete for the lives of trees, and birds fly with strings on wings, implying cages.

Immerse yourself in the melody of the winds, and hear gods voice speak to your dysfunction.

It is in vulnerability that we are sacred.

And you are a sacred little flower.

You etch the name of love into my heart.

It is your simplicity which leaves me breathless.

It is symbolic of the infinite waters of creation.

Creation flows where it will, with no plan of success, no roadmap, it just is, and just spills like water from a cup.

Love also cannot be bottled; it spills out, and cannot be governed by magic tricks.

But love is what magic is.

Love is what you gift me, little flower, with your magical presence.

The taste of forever fullness is present on the tips on those innocent lips; stretching and yearning from that stem, connected to the earth with roots.

It is the same with humans. But our roots are unseen, connected to the ether.

It seems we have something in common, my grace.

And although I have to go now, and this is goodbye, you will forever be instilled into my heart, even after the inevitable incineration of the hands of time.

Be brave, little flower, and blossom.

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