This Couple

He likes trees and flowers.

So he built a garden for her.

She likes sunlight and stories.

So she set the table between the roses.

There they would sit,

in the summertime,

and watch the sun slowly sink into the soft mosses of the rolling hills.

And there they raised their children,

in paradise.

Many summers came over the lands

and made the roses blossom.

Many falls came, too, and picked the pedals off the buds.

One

by

one.

Until winter came to envelop the fragile stems

entirely

ever single year.

When my father first planted the little rose twiglets many years ago, they were indeed fragile

and not at all yet accustomed to droughts and floods.

But with the care of their gardener, they withstood the weathers

and grew.

Today, the many colorful rose bushes around our veranda are thicker than they’ve ever been before.

And now, my parents are leaving this garden to continue writing their story elsewhere.

I hope that whoever walks past these rose bushes in the coming months and years

almost faints

with their sweet, intoxicating smell

and begins dreaming of the love that lasts forever.

The love that tends to its lovers

like Our Gardener tends to His Sprouts

always.