Orchid

The flower sits on my desk. It had three blooms when I first brought it into my room, and then the fourth one stretched its petals and greeted the world, smaller but no less beautiful than its neighbors. There is no smell, but what the flowers lack in perfume they make up for in beauty: a pale luminescence which brings you to mind. Three more buds lie ahead, promises for the future that you couldn't, or wouldn't, give me.

I look at the flower and think of you, wondering where you are and what you're doing. Are you thinking of me? Could it be that somewhere, our thoughts are meeting and we're together? Or was I just another face, another smile along your path to self-realization? Will we ever be more? Can we ever be more?

The flower sits on my desk. I meant to give it to you, but never could. I water and feed it, so I'll always have a reminder of you. And when the blooms wilt, I'll shepherd the flower in hopes of another season of beauty.