Lavenders

 I love lavenders too much. As a flower, as a color, as a feeling. To me, they are calmness, quiet warmth, a soft sigh of peace. Just the sight of them, even in a photograph, makes me smile.

And yet, I have never seen a lavender in real life. Not once. Receiving them? A distant thought, moreover, I have never even been given flowers. My love for them is built on pixels and filtered frames, on Pinterest boards and fleeting reels. I admire them through the beauty the world has shown me, without ever knowing if that beauty is real.

What if, when I finally see one, it disappoints me? What if its color is duller, its scent fainter, its presence less magical than I imagined? But then again, a flower cannot deceive. It is what it is, and that alone makes it enough.

Wait, doesn’t trust work the same way? We know only fragments of a person, the side they choose to show through a screen, across a table, in fleeting conversations. And yet, with nothing but intuition, we trust. We hand them our laughter, our sorrows, our smallest, most fragile moments. We let them in, hoping they will be as beautiful as we imagined.

And maybe that is the true beauty of trust not in knowing, but in believing.

So yes, I love lavenders. Even if I have never touched one. Even if I never will.


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