They weren’t but two flowers.
Two flowers that were blooming timidly by the side of the forest. In the middle of the winter that surrounded them.
They weren’t but two flowers rooted at the edge of the forest.


They were showered, I remember, every morning by the same sunbeam. They were woken up by the same blowing of the wind. So close.
So that the one could smell the scent of the other.
So far away. That never before had two flowers been found.
And yet if you asked the animals in the forest they’d tell you that they were side by side.


She said to it then: “Touch me”

It set out to spread its leaves. To stretch its body, in every blow of the wind, towards her. Set out to stretch its petals, to stretch its fibers and the small black handful at the part of the heart...