Leaving a Bouquet by Her Porch -

The streets brim with flowers,

Vivid and radiant.

But my home is cramped,

And with gas prices soaring, my wallet grows thinner by the day.

So, I set aside the refined joy of savoring those fragrant, colorful blooms,

Letting my heart drift with the wear and chaos of the city.

A Memory Resurfaces

And then I recall a story from long ago, from a time adrift.

There was a boy who secretly loved a girl.

He loved her deeply, with all the fiery passion of his eighteen years.

He could play the violin, knew the most soulful love songs, and even mastered magic tricks that left her in awe.

She loved him, as it seemed only natural to do.

And why not? It would be a shame not to. He was so talented, and he knew how to dote on her.

But she didn’t know—

Every time he made her laugh,

Every time he heard her applause,

Every time she agreed to go out with him,

He silently thanked his best friend with all his heart.

Then, one day—maybe March 8th—

His best friend pressed a single rose into his hand.

It was as captivating as the love songs he played,

Gently fragrant, defiant against the bold spring breeze.

“I bought a bouquet of roses this morning,” she said.

“No, this one’s for you.”

Why?

“So you can leave it by her porch.”

Why?

“Because love needs a little mystery…”

“To thicken like honey.”

The girl was overjoyed,

Delighted by the bouquet and that quiet, single rose.

Late that night,

A boy quietly left a bouquet of wild daisies by a girl’s porch.

Because she loved daisies.

Because she deserved to be loved even more.

And because friendship, too, should thicken like honey…