The Garden She Left in Me
Read this slowly. Let the words arrive before you decide what they mean.
I remember you in flowers
not because you loved them,
but because everything near you
seemed to bloom a little softer.
Green leaves by the window,
fresh stems in a glass,
your hands fixing small things
no one else would notice.
You made beauty feel ordinary,
like morning light,
like water in a vase,
like being loved without having to ask.
And maybe that is why
I still think of you
whenever something begins to grow.
Some people leave memories.
You left a garden…
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.