White flowers by the bin

He wore white linens in his teens
Happy and bright as the blossoms in his yard
A hopeless romantic, kindness to the brim
He became one among the white flowers.

Years came with knots and vines.
Dawn to dusk full of duties.
Lost his shoes and the flowers unshared.
Dreams skipped the prime milestones.
Flowers dried, Knots crept over the stones.
Kindness and wisdom graced each other
A drop of tear hidden somewhere.

Many seasons apart, next to the dim alley.
She the brightest flower of the alley.
The vines of the alley clung to her.
She the priceless, seeking shelter and soil.

Season apart, their footpaths entwined.
The first flowers beside her were from the eastern corner.
Brought the days of new happiness and hope.
Hope faded, and days passed.
The stones of the alley cast a shade.
She struggled to be the brightest.

He wished to adopt her to the yard,
be her soil and shelter, bring back all the colors.
Kindness to the brim, hopelessly hopeful,
approached her with a prayer and sunshine.

She moved seeking shelter and soil.
He moved, settled her roots and leaves
Seasons, and he couldn't be the flower next to her.
Instead, he became the soil.

Dispirited over the dried flower in the corner
He pushed it to the bin, next day to the landfill.
Layers beneath the season's wisdom,
the mind was pensive over her other flowers.

She teared up, it was a part of her memory.
Those were the first flowers of her happiness.
His own memories flashed before him,
In our memories, we build our universe.
Her tears sank his heart, already had his own share.
The new shelter, no sight of the corner flowers.

He crawled back to the bin full of debris.
Soiled his own petals to make her shine to the brim.
Deep in debris, he shifted scented and smelly bags.
Dried flowers were there next to empty cans of sparkling water.
The knots around those flowers were of a pink ribbon.
Though dried, the knots of memories were still alive.

Also found a shiny box for those dried corner flowers.
We all have our own inner space for such flowers.
A white box with a glassy shield for browny dried flowers.
Placed it at her shelter next to the evening sky.

Seasons apart, they found their inner place of peace.
Shared a story of white linens, a white box, and dried flowers.
An era apart, they grew in their own stories, memories.
Shared their life stories as soil and the flower.