Like flowers in a park,
organized by love,
a gentle hand had planted them
with a story,
a narrative that stretches on and on,
and you are that to me,
familiar in a place that one would guess,
and yet more beautiful than anyone would ever know
at first glance,
you are full of stories,
like light spilling out of a lantern,
somehow you reveal the ways of my heart to me,
and make me laugh harder than I'd ever known,
you bring color and good cheer and joy,
you bring laughter by the bouquet,
hands holding them out,
and it's homegrown,
you leaning down,
gently caring for a little seed
then a sprout
then a full-blown plant,
and then all of a sudden,
you have a bouquet
made out of love,
one that you place in my hands
of course, I love you,
words like ink spilled on a page,
fingers that shake as they yearn for the right words
to put all of this to,
like a song that you only know the beat of,
something is still missing,
and yet it's such a struggle, a hardship,
to somehow find the words that you know you know
somewhere deep down,
and I wish I could somehow declare
all the ways in which I love you,
all the ways in which you reached in
with a master herbalist's hand
and brought something to the surface
that I didn't even know was growing, Shirayuki,
thank you for reaching in
and transforming me