It is a misty summer day, the morning rain providing a sheen on the sidewalks the temperature warm with the touch of a coolness
My eyes are drawn to a neatly manicured bush with a bouquet of flowers freshly awoken from their protective buds
I stand in awe of their beauty and the magnificence they hold, the expression of vibrancy in their colors The tenderness they exude softly swaying in the gentle breeze
My walk continues and our paths cross as they have many a time She is tallish, young with usually longer blonde hair Most would call her attractive and good looking, even statuesque
I often imagine her to be a model given the varied times of the day that our paths have interwoven and her stylish and fashionable attire, yet in the midst of the mystique something feels asunder
There is an aloofness, a sense of unhappiness, never a smile or a warm glow on her face in its place I feel sadness maybe lonesomeness
My conjecture leads me to ponder and surmise how someone so young can be so dower she is the other flower, the dower flower
There is beauty but it is locked up inside one day my hope is that her bud too will blossom and she will become the flower she is meant to be