I feel empty inside, like a hollow shell. I wake in the morning to see nothing but an ordinary day. Dreams pass me by like the wind swishing past my window. Tears slip out from underneath my eyes when I wake. They’re cold and wet, everything I abhor. As I walk to the washroom, I picture his face in my mind. The gorgeous eyes and fine contours of his jaw haunt me. Suddenly, I remember:
I remember the days I used to see the sun all the time. I remember the days I used to laugh without reason or rhyme. I remember the days I used to call him mine. I remember that one Saturday when he held me close. I remember him planting a sweet kiss on my forehead and handing me a rose. I remember him pulling me into his chest and saying goodbye. I remember him leaving me without telling me why.
The dream shatters and I continue my morning routine. As I get water for myself, I slip my hands into the warm liquid. I keep it hot so I know that I am alive. The stinging of the water on my hands lets me know that I can still feel.


The numb sensation will not part from my tortured soul. It thrives off of me like a parasite. With my morning routine finished, I go back to my chambers to dress. A white sundress catches my eye and I decide to wear that. The dress matches perfectly with my eyes and long hair. Once I finish changing and lathering cream onto my body, I head downstairs. The weather outside the back window is beautiful. Mother’s garden is absolutely hypnotizing. There are gorgeous little creatures everywhere and all types of flowers imaginable, except a blue rose. Mother says the flower is impossible to grow because it can only be made by pure, unadulterated love. She tells me that kind of love is extremely rare. She says that few people in this world ever find love like that; it is a pure love that is so beautiful.


The empty feeling seems to increase with the memory of Mother’s stories. I imagine his face once more but quickly close my eyes and turn my head. It would do me no good thinking of him. That man left and he will never come back. I shut my eyes tightly to stop the pain but it is to no avail. Pain hits me again and again. Heavy breaths consume me until, finally, I am an empty shell again. The garden draws me forward and I slowly move towards it. Leaves ruffle in the passing wind and the whole garden appears to glow in the sunlight. I extend my hand to a patch of sunlight and my hand sparkles like a thousand stars. A smile graces my face because the sparkles remind me of a time when all was right with the world. The sun grows brighter and radiates furious heat so hot that I must pull my hand away. The burning sensation left by the sun tingles throughout my hand. I pay it no mind as I continue to wander around the garden, trying to find the source of my attraction.


As I continue to wander, the bushes and leaves and flowers flutter by the calm breeze. The flowers look so delightful. All kinds of flowers exist in Mother’s garden. She told me that Father had created this sanctuary for her a long, long time ago. The wind blows and the leaves once again flutter but this time they let drops of water escape. It seems as though the trees are letting their tears go. Suddenly, the memory comes to me:
Why do the winds blow? I ask Mother. She points up at the clear blue sky and says the wind blows so that the trees may shed rain. Why do the trees rain? They rain in order to part with all their sorrow; that is why the winds blow. Why do the trees have so much sorrow? They shed tears because man represses them so. This time I point up at the sky and think of Father. Is that why you cry, Mother? She nods solemnly, yes.
My knees feel weak from the strength of the memory. That happened lifetimes ago, here in this garden. The wind blows gently again. This time it looks as though the bushes have created a special path, just for me.


I gradually tread on the trail laid out for me. Flowers are on both sides and they seem to shout their joy. As my feet carry me further and further, the sky darkens. Gray storm clouds cover the shining sun and swallow up the entire sea of sky. I continue on despite and my eyes catch a figure standing in the shadows of a tall tree. The wind blows and the tree above the figure sheds loose drops of water. I come closer to the figure and gasp; my hands fly to my mouth in shock. The figure is him. He walks out from under the tree and then it begins to rain. He is wearing a white shirt and holding a white rose, but as the rain drops begin to hit, his shirt and the rose turn blue. I look down to see that I am no longer wearing a white dress but a blue one. Thunder rumbles in the distant sky and the rain continues to pour. I gaze into his eyes at the same time he gazes into mine. He smiles and holds out for me a blue rose.