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It bloomed like a flower in the spring. With beautiful petals, colors painting them like a previously blank canvas. Such an aura, it caused jealousy and misfit, because it was one of a kind. The warmth and love seemed to have no end, flowing like an infinite love of emotions- both good and bad. Nothing was perfect. At times it was on the edge of dying many times, it lost color, its roots started drying up.
The beginning of a story which many hoped would have no end. Such love, as the flower signified, was not found elsewhere. It was a gift, that was no doubt, a gift from someone who loved them more than anything else. Not many had the chance to live it, or witness it, even. Many thought that they were connected, like their ancestors many centuries ago.
Maybe it was what they called it, the red string of fate, that guided the luckiest one to their destined partner. Now, it was such a rare occurrence, though never impossible. They would never know.
When the winter hit, it was hard to keep the flower alive. Because the cold was like a death wish, it would wrap itself around your mind and contort the thoughts floating around it. It was hard, cold and senseless, unusual and uncomfortable. Something new to learn, to adjust to the changes the world would make. The world flips around and around, no changes could be expected, very few are ready for the mysteries to come undone.
Like a flower in the spring, it bloomed beautifully. When the colder seasons came, it became hell to uphold its beauty- but nothing could ever stop it. During the hardest times, it seemed as if the purpose of its blossoming would fade, but it was only highlighted. A flower in the spring, though this one would be endless.
