Entwined Flowers

1 February 2024

Dear Diary,

Today, I picked out my wedding dress. In the blinding ivories and lily whites in silk, lace, taffeta, and tulle, I transformed into a bride.

Then again, from the very moment I met him, I knew I was meant to walk down a flower-lined aisle towards Florian’s tearful earth brown eyes. As soon as he extended his hand, the aquarelle rows of vibrant blooms at the Keukenhof Tulip Gardens seemed to fade in colour. At that moment, the only thing planted in the soil of my memories of my holiday in the Netherlands was his quip about the copy of the Secret Garden in my hands and his sunbeam smile. When he asked me out for coffee, every word scrupulously chosen like hands tending to a seedling, it was so easy for me to say yes.

And now, I’ve chosen the sumptuous gown signifying the ripening of our love. I don’t know what he’d say about this frothy blush masterpiece, honestly. (I do hope he calls me ‘My Peony’ again.). All I know is my desire to marry this man can never be uprooted.

In the budding of her future,

Bryony

***

1 February 2024

Dear Diary,

Today, I got my suit fit, a navy three-piece number on the lapel of which I plan to pin a single peony. All that sprouts in my thoughts, though, is imagination-painted pictures of Bryony in her frock; just how will the woman who perfumes my world with her kind cornflower eyes and butterfly wing touches enrapture me as she walks towards an altar?

The memory of us locking gazes on each other is as fresh as yesterday morning’s dewdrops for me. Oh, how my friends back home in Paris found my decision to start a medical practice in Amsterdam as confusing as an overgrown shrub. However, all doubts about moving, all thorns pricking at my will dissolved as soon as I spotted that lovely tourist in the lavender sundress. Just one hello in that spring breeze of an English accent and a seed of love and happiness was buried deep in me.

If I were a sunflower, Bryony would be the morning rays. I truly need her light to make my life verdant.

Happily lost in a rainforest of love,

Florian

***

20 May 2024

Dear Diary,

You know what? I might actually go ahead and pick out that lemon elderflower cheesecake from the tasting when we head back to the baker’s. After all, that bright, mellow taste reminds me of the meadows of Bryony’s beauty.

Gosh, once more, my consciousness travels to that cloudless afternoon at The Garden Café in Soho. The bright murals of large, golden daffodils on the walls withered in my eyes compared to the warm blue regard and the cheeky grin blossoming on her lips as she urged me to try her favourite citrus pie. As I smiled to show her my approval, nectar seemed to flow from Bryony’s countenance. Three hours of us two droning on and on like bees about nothing and everything passed, yet none of us noticed.

Oh, the thought of her clinging on to me like ivy in bed brings about a potpourri of gladness in my heart right now.

Drinking in the honey-sweet thoughts of Bryony’s presence,

Florian

***

20 May 2024

Dear Diary,

You know what? I might actually go ahead and pick out those rose and pistachio macarons for the sweets buffet when we head back to the baker’s. After all, that heady, rich aroma ties me to Florian’s gentle soul.

Oh, what would I give to transport myself back to that honeycomb moon of that Parisian night. From the moment Florian picked me up from my hotel, a sprig of cheekiness floating in those cocoa pools he stared at me with, I knew that I could walk across a treacherous jungle to have a repeat of his petal-soft voice thoughtfully pointing out every landmark on the métro. When we arrived at a little pâtisserie whose jewel-toned walls made me recall a poppy field, he simply nodded and out came a small millefeuille cake. When I took a bite, the rosewater hit my tongue and attempted to transport me to Versailles greens. However, it was no match for the way Florian cupped my cheeks as if it were the most delicate lotus and planted a soft kiss on my mouth.

To think I’m this close to savouring those efflorescent kisses forever brings a drizzling of tears on my cheeks now.

Hungry for Florian’s kisses to make tenderness burgeon in me,

Bryony

***

19 October 2024

Dear Diary,

I was practically crowned the Queen of All Fields today at my hen do. However, why is it that all I wanted was just ten minutes of just gazing at my Florian, a bundle of asters in his hand and those brown eyes misty?

As soon as I opened the door to Ivy’s flat, I was welcomed by the scent of jasmine and my friends in marigold frocks hugging me. A silver tiara with jewel-encrusted gardenias on my head, the girls and I bonded with games, movies, and sips of that moscato I liked with the spritely bouquet.

And yet, all that time, my insides were a desert craving for the refreshing showers of Florian’s embrace. Just how I managed to appear solid as pine whilst away from my love, I do not know.

Just a couple of months until he and I meet at the altar, I suppose.

Wilting without my Florian,

Bryony

***

19 October 2024

Dear Diary,

Just what is this sensation of my heart feeling like a daisy, its mane of white stripped off by grubby hands, even in the middle of my stag do? I suppose it’s further proof that only Bryony and the way every move of hers is perfumed in delight are what can make joy stand tall, mighty as an oak.

The lads had prepared an afternoon at Le Chrysanthème Bar today. Gosh, how they made me consume pints and pints of ale made my mouth taste of nothing but barley and hops. Then, us olive-shirted mates watched a play at the newly-opened Théâtre de la Tulipe Jaune, the actors budding with promise.

All of that meticulously planned fun could have been buried in the soil, though, as the entire time I wished I were a vine crawling my way to Bryony’s side. How did I ever pretend inside me, there wasn’t tumbleweed blowing inside? I’ll never know.

Florian, just you wait. You will see her as a bride in just a few months.

Feeling as if weeds choked me,

Florian

***

13 February 2025

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is my wedding day. Tomorrow, I shall shame a garden hose with the copious amount of tears that shall flow as I see my Bryony in white, a gossamer veil embroidered with peonies covering her beautiful face. It’s actually happening!

It seems like only yesterday that she dyed my soul in the indelible indigo of her colours all the way in the Netherlands. Now, I’m only a day away from basking in the dahlia glow of bewitchment at that first bridal smile. I shall take her hand, gently as a lily, and slip on that gold band with the words ‘You make my heart bloom’ engraved on the inside. Oh, how I await for the minister to declare her my wife, the only blossom I will cherish and nurture.

Now, our future shall grow strong and proud like the towering trees of the Black Forest. We shall build a cosy home, one where I’ll hold her hand whilst she sips the chamomile tea I’d prepare for her every morning. Our love shall bear fruit; how I yearn for a little floret of a girl bearing her Mummy’s cornflower eyes and showering me with butterfly kisses. We will marinate in la vie en rose until it is time to return to the ground like autumn leaves.

Oh, tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

With excitement taking root,

Florian

***

13 February 2025

Dear Diary,

Am I really going to be a bride tomorrow? Just the thought and a well of tears, enough to irrigate a field, begins to form.

How did we get here, from the tulip fields near Amsterdam to the lush greens of a future with Florian? As I await the day I take step after step on an aisle lined with calla lilies, a ds, and peonies, the rainforest of my mind yawns with images of our future.

Oh, how it thrills me to picture us tending to a dinky backyard where we’d grow the herbs we’d cook together. How it thrills me to picture a darling daughter, a new branch in our family tree, with Florian’s ebony curls and earthen regard (although, he would probably insist our children look like me). How it thrills me to picture a joyous life firmly rooted by Florian’s side, ready to face the rains and the droughts of existence with him.

One more day, and he will be in front of that altar.

Flourishing at the thought of marriage with my darling,

Bryony

***

The Woodgrove Gardens

Events:

Carnation Garden: Florian Dupré - Sandra Weedlam Nuptials -

Hyacinth Garden: Pierre Rocher - Bryony Greendale Nuptials

***

14 February 2025

Dear Diary,

I’m married… and so is Florian. Through the little gaps in the hedges of the Hyacinth Garden, I had to watch him beam like a pure stream of sunlight on blades of grass. Meanwhile, my heart just about shrivelled up like a plant without water.

Beautiful Sandra with her eyes the colour of the Amazon standing out against the snowdrop white of her gown. Beautiful Sandra and her voice, sweet as vanilla. Of course, my best mate would choose her to offer a lifetime of bouquets to. Why did I ever water that tiny sprig of hope that he’d see me?

Oh well. At least, in my imagination, it’s me who gets to entwine myself to him like a vine.

With insides withering,

Bryony

***

14 February 2025

Dear Diary,

I’m married… and so is Bryony. She was so beautiful in that little glimpse I had of her before she went into her wedding venue, as if she’s the most fragrant of all the flowers.

She’s Pierre’s peony now. I don’t blame my best friend, though. Golden waves the colour of fresh wheat, a smile that would rival the most delectable honey, a deep desire to nurture her like a rare camellia – of course, she’d choose Pierre. Why did I ever water that tiny sprig of hope that she’d see me?

Oh well. At least, in my imagination, it’s me who gets to entwine myself to her like a vine.

In an eternal dry spell,

Florian