“Life is the flower for which love is the honey” – Victor Hugo
You touched me in a way I had never expected to have been possible. I thought I knew what was the richest that could be offered, the most perfumed scent. Yet upon gazing at the tender bud, by supervising, in the beginning only half-heartedly, to your roots and nurturing the very soil in which you placed your vegetative grip, I became at once so singularly yours.
What sort of harvest I had acquainted myself with was an inferior crop. Beautiful at first but that quickly tapered off into something sad and unimpressive. However, this flower was an utter surprise. With every expanded petal I found myself with a growing respect, seeing it for its true floral splendor.
It seemed that a certain selfishness should be employed, because a sudden surge of satisfaction consumed me. This is one of the best secrets to have ever been kept in this world, and I must hoard it to my very breast. Yet to suffocate this excellent flower seemed to be anything but righteous…
So indeed, it became a necessity to share the immense beauty of the bloom. To see how its petals stretched out into the fullest of forms, brimming with excitement and mystery. How much lurked in that small green bud that I was unaware of…
