Where Flowers Get Their Scent – by Torché Johnson (Adult)
No one has ever told you that when the purest of souls ascend beyond the boundaries of this world they leave behind a muted wish in the form of a flower. The fruition of that wish is implicitly understood through a released, fragrant miracle.
Every sui generis request is as fragile as the very flower that hosts it. An ethereal web of gossamer hope and dreams as delicate yet determined as the love that waters it, keeping it alive.
At last, will you understand that letting go does not constitute selfish neglect and weakness, but strength and hope. And thus a request is realized.
In your private moments, when you inhale the gift of the baby’s breath only voice, it is only then that you shall perceive its gentle thank you. And you shall discern that its pure white buds and attenuated stems mean more than the cold grey stone it lies on.