I brought the garden alive; that was the conviction I adorned when
I sat on the bench on a fresh Spring morning, the smell of honeysuckle easing
my soul, hyacinths dancing a seductive song with the breeze, bushes of
frangipani letting my soul calm amidst the graceful tulips sat in the fresh
patch of green rich lands. The smell of petrichor is far yet close. The moment
was a semblance to my existence, the purpose for my human. I lived my
conviction far too long 'coz the winter chill brought not just fading leaves
and blanketing death, it gave me a rather cold idea of how I borrowed the life
from the garden.
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