Dear Lover,

You seem to have stumbled upon my little garden here, or, as I had better hoped, you will have noticed the budding hollyhocks and roses from the lighthouse. Perhaps it is spring, in which case it’ll all be in full bloom by now. It’s been long since I looked on the garden but I know this one-not like the others-will continue it’s cycle of blossoming and wilting for as long as both you and I live. It never fails.

I wonder how well you fit in it? You’re probably incredibly handsome. The garden, I know, has caught something of its sapient counterpart in your eye, and it’s a well known fact that glory attracts glory as much as power attracts power.

Well, since you’re most likely in one of the lanes leading to the fountain in the middle, I say don’t be tempted by the water just yet. I encourage you, if you can handle the thirst, to wait a while and observe how the birds grace the bushes. They’ll have a manner about them that shows they’re oblivious to the branches’ ancient construction. That secret, my dear, is only exchanged between us. Take some regard for the ones I planted like a canopy over your head. I always planned to create a flower garden with walls and a roof that I would often frolic in. Now I reside in that grey, undying fountain right before you. Come on, now you can wander down the narrow floral paths towards my home.

I’ve laid here, my lover, since a while ago a few days after I felt these very waters wrap me up in their silken sleeves and fill me with a softness unknown to any man. I’ve been resting for all that time since then: the fountain has decided to keep me within it, but I intend to find solace, my darling, in your consciousness of me.

Although I can’t see your endearing face, or hear your weakening steps across the turf, I can take comfort in knowing that you stand in my immortal garden and gaze at my little damp grave. So when the time comes, my lover, for you to take your place in death as I did, find me down the garden path.

Yours fondly,

A flower girl