In my heart there was a spot where we stood where I stand, still. And flowers that grew there have withered and died around me, when the seasons changed. I miss them, and for this, I waited there, for yet another spring. When spring came, and while they grew again – dancing upon a passing wind, unbreakable yet – the spot where we stood, where I stand, still, remained empty; your footprints all but blown away.

Yet I waited.

This spring I found, on the spot we stood where you no longer stand, a single, shy flower growing. And for this now you can no longer stand there. I sat and looked at it for a long time. There is now space for only me to stand here. I realise I am in the way. This is a garden where only flowers shall grow.  And I musn’t stand any longer, on the spot where we once stood, so another flower can grow, where I stand, still. I must go. Find another garden to stand in. On my way, and over there, perhaps I will find you, perhaps not; perhaps you will find me, perhaps not. But I must go now.

If you ever come back to find me there, please know, on the place where we stood, the flowers now grow. It is sweet and it is fragrant and in spring it dances in the passing wind, unbreakable yet. That is how I shall remember, the spot where we once stood.