An Orchid in Every Room

In those first, golden weeks,

love bloomed quietly,

like the pale unfurling of orchid petals

in the morning light.

You knew my heart bent toward flowers,

how their stillness could steady me,

how their color could coax a smile

before I’d even spoken your name.

Each week, without fail,

you placed beauty in my hands:

sometimes an orchid,

its blooms poised like porcelain,

sometimes a burst of wild petals

that made the air feel new.

Even when the stems bowed,

their fragrance fading,

you would come again,

arms full, eyes warm,

to place fresh joy in my keeping.

Some mornings,

after more than our four minutes of promised embrace,

I’d wake to find a white-lipped orchid

waiting on the nightstand,

as if it had bloomed there

just for me.

Other mornings,

after more than our four minutes of promised embrace,

a note in your handwriting,

ink pressed deep into paper,

told me I was loved,

told me I was seen.

The wall once built around my heart,

you take down brick by brick,

until light pours in where shadows used to live.

A home with you always carries

the scent of something living,

something cherished,

something tended with care.

Every room blooms with you.

Love is as constant as the flowers,

steady, luminous,

and I am wholly,

beautifully,

yours.

Sincerely, Krystle Kelley