Henna

In this you saw the budding leaves promising hope in their bloom, the windows that allowed union beyond our physical bodies, and the flowers decorating the paths to the places your fingers would traverse...

But without your sight to accompany mine, what I see is  how the buds of hope are kept in check by the walls of  possibilities, how the windows just look into other closed rooms, how the flowers are just a lure to abandoned gardens, and how the paths are nothing but the trails of sorrow and happiness continuing their dance in swirling patterns.

Without love, my life would be like this Henna on my hands; a series of meaningless patterns ending into nothing.

(Featuring my hands decorated by a wonderful 12 year old artist)