The Garden
You are walking through a garden filled with beautiful flowers, flowers of every color imaginable. No two flowers seem to be exactly alike. You see them all, and marvel at their unique beauty, but you don't pick any of them. Some of them almost seem to call out to you "Pick me, I'm the one you want." But you don't pick these either. And then, as you are making your way through the countless multitudes of flowers, you see it. It is a flower not wholly unlike all the others, but it catches your eye just the same. You know in that instant that this is the flower for you, the one you want to take home. You walk up to the flower, and reach out to pick it up, and the wind blows. The flower moves just out of your grasp, so you reach out again, and once more it bobs just beyond your reach. Each time you reach for it it moves a little to the left, or a little to the right: anywhere, but your open hand. Until at last you are left to sit back and wonder at the exquisite beauty of a flower that you can never touch. That's love.
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