Blossoms

Warning: Contains happy, warm fuzzy feelings within.

By M. Hendrix

He lovingly placed his hands around the small pot, lifting it gently and cradling it to his chest. Carefully crossing the room, his delicate steps making sure his treasure did not fall to the earth, he set the pot down on the shelf awaiting it, the sunlight glinting off of the deep green leaves inside. Stepping back, he tilted his head and smiled.

Perfect.

He tipped a small amount of water into the pot, as an apology for making it suffer the move, and left it there to soak up the moisture and sunlight. It was so little still, barely blooming with purple and white petals, and it had to be moved so that it could flourish.

He knelt beside the woven stand, his hands caressing the porcelain container for a brief moment before his lips touched the warming surface. He let his head rest against the base, fingers curling around the lip of the pot and sinking lightly into the damp soil.

There he sat, warm in the sunlight, with the only thing he truly cared for in this mortal world.