We are born into a land of opportunity,

A world swarming with numbers, letters, ideas,

And people.

Yet we are lost,

Endlessly stumbling away at the path before us,

Always looking ahead.

Every now and then,

We stop and smell the roses,

Bitter and sweet,

And almost unattainable.

We live for the day we can water our own garden,

To open our eyes each morning and look up at the blue ocean above us,

Feel the warmth of the sun on our tired backs,

And watch each flower bloom and unfold.

We long to watch the picture we've painted for ourselves come to life

In shades of passion, remorse, and hardship.

We long to see everything we've worked for lay shimmering and new at our feet.

We live to dream,

To reach out and touch the smooth and glossy silk of our dreams,

To wrap our hands around our hope,

And never, never, let go.

What has become of the present,

Of all the moments we hold so dear to our hearts,

Of the memories we share with those closest to us?

What of the tart pucker of New Year's Eve champagne on smiling lips,

And the first time we saw fireworks,

Exploding with magnificent force into colors so bright we could all but reach up and

Touch them.

What of the glorious shades of gold and red that saunter to the ground on the backs of fall

Leaves,

Of the sheer joy of falling in love,

And the ever-deepening desire to spend all eternity with someone,

Despite the pain and heartbreak woven in it.

The most beautiful of flowers are often found hidden in gardens of the past,

And are all too easily passed by.