She is the web of green vines, which came to me one day. New life blossoming with perfumed jasmine flowers, as they climbed up my melancholy brick wall of loneliness towards the sky.
Her living roots lovingly adhered to me, devotedly—her climbers adorned my crumbling bricks in an enormous impressionistic painting of burgeoning blossoms and soft petals in splotches of vibrant blue.
Her soft fragrant essence kissed the warm breeze, which caressed my time-hardened surface, and the setting sun reached down with fingers of golden mist, which shone warm on the two of us. She is a part of me now, the beautiful part, and I am no longer alone.
I love you Cynthia Ann.