... Love ... ?

A stretch from the past

A weird feeling

A small tinge, a small bud

He never actually felt it.

But seeing the single rose

A single bush, with nothing but the rose

The only color, the only beauty

The flower that overflows with red.

Was it that beautiful feeling?

The feeling that only appear in a book?

A fictional thing? Untrue? Unspoken?

Was it that undescribable feeling?

This wonderful flower

He picked it away from the pain

Even if it pricked his gentle fingers

He had saved the wonderful flower.

The flower, grateful, happy

Smiled from ear to ear

Hugged the young child

And left with a single message.

A single undecipherable message

No one but the leaves could understand

No one but the trees could illustrate

And no one but she herself can say.

The child, confused,

Ran after her,

But it was too late

For she was already rooted in his heart.

And so the first fragment began.