Through the mists and winds, between the branches and the crown, once quietly-at-dawn, it still sprouts.
First, a gentle shoot, then the warm petals of the flower will reach the sky. To her brother who always waited for her.
The spring thunderstorms will sound their dance. And it smells like you’re here on earth, barely recognizable.
You feel the thin strings of your heart.
You know this scent. You know exactly.
It smells like eternal love.