I was the gardener, and she was the rose.

Beautiful. Delicate. Demanding of care and attention. Worthy of admiration and doting.

I toiled. I nurtured. I was honored to give her love that she was unable, at this point in her journey, to emulate. I loved without the expectation of reciprocity. I loved her just as a gardener loves his rose. The pleasure is found in watching the rose blossom.

But, the rose cannot uproot itself and provide care to the gardener in return. No matter how grateful it may be for that which it receives, it is only there to be cared for; it cannot repay it in kind.

One day, far from now, I hope she calls me when she has learned to garden. Perhaps then, we will be able to nurture each other. Or, perhaps we will show each other the gardens we have tended in the absence of one another.

Goodbye for now.