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You look beautiful, my dear…

said the barren tree

with branches like empty hands

reaching into the blue.

Beautiful…

you, dressed in pink laughter,

while I stand here

wearing winter.

The blooming tree smiled.

You could almost hear it in the leaves.

Oh no…

it is your service.

Your silent standing.

Your patience through frost.

I am lucky

to bloom beside you.

The barren tree tilted slightly.

Was that sarcasm?

Or sympathy dressed as spring?

A soft rustle.

A petal loosened itself into the air.

You will bloom very soon.

Do not worry.

Seasons are not permanent landlords.

They visit.

They leave.

Together,

we will bloom.

Together,

we will fill the hearts of passersby

with fragrance.

And if even one tired soul

carries our scent home

in the folds of their memory…

Tell me, my dear,

will we not be

the luckiest couple

in the world?

The barren tree laughed.

A dry, wooden laugh.

I was only teasing.

I know…

we bloom on the same clock.

When the wind carries our fragrance

and it reaches human hearts,

it will not just be scent.

It will be sweetness.

It will be hope.

It will be proof

that even what looks empty

is only preparing.

Some trees are blooming.

Some are waiting.

None are abandoned.