Oh, if only she could be a flower. A perfect little flower, petals bright and unbruised, uncrushed by the world and its ravages. He called her a flower often– he spoke in the language of plants, after all– and she wished she could let herself believe it. Sometimes she almost did, when he said it with such sincerity. He looked at her the way he looked at his real beloved flowers, like she was something precious, and the intensity of that gaze left her breathless and terrified. Could she live up to that much hope?
Things withered, after all. Even flowers. Perhaps especially flowers. Nothing lasted, no matter how hard she tried to hold fleeting moments of sunshine in her hands, life kept spilling through her fingers. And yes, he loved her now, loved her from a distance, but would that love not fade? Could it withstand the force of reality. of her not being this beautiful image he had built up in his head? She was hardly the perfect girlfriend, or even a good one. Years with Walden had taught her that. She was too impulsive and she left her clothes all over the floor and sometimes her passion for life came out as yelling instead of laughing.
But she smiled all the way to her fingertips as he whispered to the little flower. It was just a tiny violet, so fragile, so precious, but maybe, maybe–
Hope was fragile and precious, too. Maybe, maybe.
She wondered what he wished for but she knew better than to ask; wishes wouldn’t work if you said them aloud. Was that why she could never say to Tilden what she needed to?
Stepping up to the fountain, she closed her eyes and breathed out gently over her violet, imbuing it with all the hope and promise and magic she could summon from her veins, from her wildly thumping heart. “Please,” she whispered, opening her fingers and letting it float down into the water. Maybe, maybe her heart beat.
Turning to Tilden, she reached for one of his hands, lacing their fingers together and dragging him back to the grassy open area. She was still barefoot, and she loved the way the grass whispered against her skin. Laughing, she lifted their joined hands up and spun herself underneath them. “Sing to me?” Few things were as purely magical as his voice. “I want to dance with you.”
tilden loved and hoped and was a man that had a light inside him that never seemed to die. he dreamed of a girl who had a fearful heart, yet still stood strong and oh, how he wanted to be everything she ever needed. he’d waited for years, loved her since he saw her and he still waits now. more patient than he use to be, and kinder when he needed to be. he had learned and grown because of her, and for her. he wanted to continue to do so.
he watched as she made her wish, wondering what it is that she could have wished for. he wouldn’t ask, no, but he hoped the plants would listen and somehow she would have what she wanted. she deserved so much happiness, wanted to give her it. he didn’t hesitate to take her hand in his, never would and he held her hand a little tighter than he should. he knew there time would be up, and somehow he wanted it to last a little longer.
watching her slowly spin in the grass was such a sight, that his face softened and his heart hurt. she was so beautiful and breathtaking. he pulled her close, guiding her hand to his shoulder and his own hand curling around her waist.
“i look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping.” he sang softly, a small smile on his face as he began to sway with her. “while my guitar gently weeps. i look at the floor and see that it needs sweeping, still my guitar gently weeps.” tilden then spun her around, before holding her back in his arms. “i don’t know why, nobody told you how to unfold your love.” he continued to sing the rest of the song to her, gently and with all the love in his eyes.
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