Brave Flowers & Broken Wings

1. pastel sunsets in the coldest spring

It was spring. You know, the one where the leaves seem almost perennial? The windshields felt not a single streak of that warmth that topped the trees way up there at the sun's grasp. It was also the wettest season and nothing was left unwashed, everything was rejuvenated from a harsh winter's run. The birds stopped chirping as they sheltered high up in tree hollows and on branches that spewed over the stretched street. The most mundane sound echoed from that of tires gushing in and out of potholes that overflowed in poor attempts from him swerving past them through the thickened haze.

The radio was on but muted and the intonation of his voice purred through your ear. Bewitched by his grin, you were relished in the sweet and guilty pleasures of him doing absolutely nothing else but gripping the wheel. There was that smirk, the one you liked, drawn up on his lips across his beastly face that you were quite fond of. It beguiled you every time to fall in a bit more in the sensation of him wholeheartedly. You never got tired of your heart bursting into a size larger.

His fingers on his right hand intertwined with yours then and he rubbed his thumb against your tiny soft knuckles. There it was, that wintry feel inside your heart and he tightened his grip just so he could warm them up. Swift glances to acknowledge the presence of each other after a few led into locked in minute adorations next.

He had grown on you and he was the reason you felt that you needed to grow and you wanted him to know that you were thankful for all of it. You became a better person because he was an even better man to you than you knew how one should have been. He voiced his emotions differently and painted his feelings more clear and empathetic tone than his predecessors ever could have or did. In that, you eventually opened your heart like a flower on a summer's hottest day or a spring's freshest morning to him, because it felt like he had invented a language spoken only to your heart that amplified a glow inside your soul. His love slept right in there. It was amazing how he listened amply, unveiling and accepting every irreversible scar and bleak wound that resided internally and externally too, waiting patiently in the crevices of your heart and rehabilitating what needed be. He cuddled your soul, protected it from the slightest indication of recurring themes or withdrawals from past ones all whilst he watered and nurtured a broken state of mind to selflessly watch you bloom again without fences. He trusted your progress, not to harvest the seeds sown, pick at your flowers or watch them wither again, but to witness a rebirth and a beautiful redemption of a girl who had been beaten by nature's course.

I could tell that he had restored a happiness blanketed under years of pain, right around the same time it was deemed to have been lost into an abyss of eternal darkness inside of you. He helped you find that light back and my favourite part was that glint in your brown eyes when you found out that it was still there. The brown in your eyes looked like the freshest and sweetest of honey made by bees flying free in flowery gardens far away. It was easy to tell how much you loved that you did not hate him and that you did not think that anyone else could've compared. You trusted his intentions and his purpose in your life. It was even more beautiful when you realized that the honey in your eyes praised him a bit more every day. The spark that adorned the two of you always spoke softly to him and he just could not have gotten enough of it.

And just like that, he had realized that the brown in your eyes were no longer just brown, but it was the most perfect colour he had ever seen.

He steered through a gorge of tall and mossy mahoganies that were casted in shadows of the forest as you gazed through the tearing glass and moving branches at the seemingly gloomy sky that extended to sempiternity. The sun hid behind trees over a horizon behind clouds in a sky that was absent in blue. Such a thing about the wet season, it gives the chance to witness nature's photosynthesis almost every day and the manner in which everything waters down for revival. Quite similar to that of a person nurtured to feel or learning to love again, or at least learning to believe that it exists. If only humans were really flowers and trees, birds and bees.