The beauty of nature is nothing mysterious.
It’s born, it develops, it grows; it dies.
It dies.
Everything dies.
But love,
Love can never die.
And like the small nature of those white roses that was given to you on our loving day
I will love you forever until that bundle of roses fades away.
The ordinary story of those lovers who sought love from the very first time their eyes intertwined.
But what did they know of love?
Nothing, they were too young, people say.
But love knows no age so how can they judge on whether it was love or lost hope?
They can’t.
They can’t tell me who to love or how to love.
They can’t tell me when to love or when I can be in love.
And that is why I love Evelyn.
It’s why I’ve loved Evelyn and will never stop until those roses die.
Part One: Young
The known story of Evelyn’s and I love started way back when our young minds were just starting to see the world and its beauty. Innocent minds that had not yet developed. Minds that were not prepared for the path we would endure in the future.
Back in the state of Georgia, I was just visiting my distant cousins with my parents and grandparents for a family reunion.
Since I was just four, I had not been introduced to the stereotypical part of the world yet. The part that says ‘Georgia, home of the down south Rednecks, deer shooters, country folk who marry their own cousins.’
So it didn’t bother me to travel down here for my first reunion. Actually, it was my first time leaving my home state California and I was eager to go anywhere in our seven-seated van.
Gazing out of the tinted windows in the very last row of the van, my eyes were staring at true nature as it unfolded before me. High trees full of bold green leaves that swayed in the wind, dry knee high yellow and green tinted grass, and a far extensive blue sky that stretched across eternity if it could.
It was nothing you would see back in Cali which was full of rock hard cracked concrete and city sky-high sky scraping buildings with gleaming windows that could make a blind man see.
Exhilaration fabricated in the pit of my stomach watching a fuzzy flurry of evergreen zoom by and made me wonder if our final destination would also be as fascinating at what I was beholding.
“Mom, where are we?” I curiously asked not taking my gaze off the window.
“Glynn County, Georgia; home of the original Georgia Peach,” she responded. I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Home of the original KKK,” granddad muttered.
“Dad!” mom scolded.
‘KKK?’ I asked myself naively.
Granddad grunted and let down his window without a word.
I instantly covered my head with my oversized jacket because I knew he was about to smoke. I could see mom and dad’s face grimacing him now. They hate when he smokes period. And to make it worse, he’s smoking around their four year old baby boy. No matter how much mom and dad hated it though, Granddad got away with it, but never without a fight.
