Beautiful flower, my beautiful flower.
The simple things that bring us joy…
Ah, joy, peace, some quiet place within,
some perfect state, a taste of love,
of truth, of genuine moments,
and things, and people;
She sat outside on a small, plastic chair, and the beautiful, warm, morning sun shone upon their faces. He walked up to her, he took her frail hand and said:
I want you to be happy,
I want you strong, and healthy.
And she looked up, smiled, twisted, and sat up. She pulled his hand to her chest, nodded, and said:
When I see you,
I feel happy,
I am stronger.
And he wished, with everything he knew of wishes; he wished. He wanted eternity, he wanted the impossible: to hold her longer, watch her smile more, watch her steal more glances at the sunsets of her youth, watch her be for as long as his kittens would be. He shed a tear within, as he smiled without, and wished. Life would always have its way, but they had this–a beautiful moment, a chance to be, and live, and own happiness, oh, so boldly.
And she wished, with everything she knew of wishes, with everything she knew of life; she wished. And unlike him, she spoke of it–she said:
May I see more days,
so that I can have such days.
And he would break to the thought of it. A prayer for happy, quiet days, and days full of life, vivacity. She wished to be for as long as his, and theirs kittens would be, to watch them be, grow, and live. And she smiled through it all, and joined in the laughter, and every happy moment that made her want more. And to the inevitability of goodbyes, when she said: Good bye, my loves.
Oh, beautiful flower,
my beautiful flower.
Love is your medicine,
as it is mine;
love is your happiness,
as it is mine.
I will always love you.