They walk hand in hand.
Trees lining the avenue are clothed in delicious pink and white blossoms.
The pink glistens in her eyes against the backdrop of her simple white sequined dress.
She has a kind of understated beauty; perhaps because she is so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness. She is simple; maybe that’s why her skin glows with inner beauty, lighting her eyes, and softening her features.
She smiles at him. There is something about the way she smiles; as if butterflies seem to escape from the pit of her stomach and the sun has somehow toppled down from the sky , making home right there in her heart. She has the kind of smile that can make him feel happy to be alive and just that little bit more human.
He watches as she holds out her hand midair to catch a petal raining down. Their scent becomes diffuse in the warming breeze and he holds his head high to savour it.
He wants to pinch a line from Neruda for her,
“I want to do with you what the spring does to the cherry trees.”
He pauses momentarily.
Guess, he need do nothing, really, for her to flourish.
She remains in full bloom, regardless of the season…. warmed up by the sun’s rays………always a riot of colours…
being exactly the way that makes her spirit glow out loud.
The rest, as they say, is just poetry.