It hurts so good to go back there.
This secret garden, where I used to meet with you. And you watered the roses that never bloomed when I did. But you had your way with them… You didn’t even have to try. You just walked where no one else had been allowed before, and the hyacinths shone brighter, just to catch your waltzing glance. Daisies danced in the wind, the crocuses reveled in your shadow, the whole garden sang your glories, as soon as you crossed its gate.
And when you went away, I couldn’t stand walking passed the wicket anymore. All my lillac trees grayed in boredom, and the sunflowers that followed our steps closely as you lead me, your arm around my febrile waist, didn’t agree anymore on where they should turn their colorful faces.
I waited. A long time. Hoping every flower would dry up and die, the guilt in their defying petals dying with them. I wondered if, once there was nothing else to salvage, if I could a brand new garden, free of the memory of you. I waited, and waited… And waited some more.
When I considered it was safe to return, I walked back to my secret garden again, expecting that there would only be dry stems and dead leaves to get rid of. I pushed the gate, and found myself in awe. Providence and its mysteries had taken care of my precious garden while I was away.
Stepping between the wild bushes, I caught the buds smelling the remains of your laughter on my skirt’s hem. It brought back all the memories… All at once. Every moment I had worked so hard to forget.
It hurts so good to be back here. Where you are still rooted. In this rainbow of souvenirs, this symphony of emotions, ready to be harvested. Only waiting for you.
But for now… The roses will have to settle with just me.