Mysterious, elusive, often misinterpreted yet the patience he bore to understand every layer, every thorn, every cell. He picked up the black one, understood the beauty in it or rather thought it unique.
Why was it unique to him?
Was it because it truly was never original but in fact had to be groomed, and nurtured.
It had to fall, it had to be tested , tried till perfected?
I won't question why those hands reached out and picked up the mysterious, elusive and misinterpreted one but rather see the world through his eyes, be touched, nurtured and bloom, give a fragrance so rare that he shall be envied for it!
Reach places that have never been traveled, be sought for but never held by anyone but him alone.
