Where Blue Orchids Bloom

She stood gracefully in an old garden, the sun constantly kissing her autumn skin. Behind her, emerald green sycamore trees grew in the middle of the breezy meadow. She gently held onto her snow-white bonnet with one delicate hand, and she clutched a bouquet of orchids ranging in different shades of blue in the other. Her dark, curly hair was tied up into a bun with loose strands hanging beside her darling face. 

God, her face. 

She had an exquisitely curved nose that was placed perfectly between her sweet, almond eyes. Her smile was soft and tranquil, though her dimples never failed to reveal themselves, not even when her mouth formed only a fraction of a curve. She wore a long milky dress with charming, detailed layers that pooled to her feet and along the grass she stood upon. 

My mind couldn’t comprehend how a perfection like hers was created. Matter of fact, she was everything perfection wished it could be-- and more. 

I could hear symphonies playing in my ears every time I lay eyes upon her. Those kind, coffee eyes. Dahlia in Sunlight. My favorite piece in this great hall since she arrived all those years ago. Well, two and a half to be exact. 

The frame that surrounded her was a delightful shade of gold. The patches on the frame told me that she was an antique painting, a bewitching relic. There was an aching feeling in the pit of my stomach, longing to reach out and run my fingers along the canvas, to drink in every detail, to admire her beauty, but I was across the hall. 

Inside a canvas of my own.

I was in the middle of an infinite acre of land and a small farmhouse, tall grasses grew around my bare feet. I wore a tattered tunic the same color as my dark brown hair. I had pale skin, despite being in the sun for all of my life, shoveling and planting in the middle of the field for eternity. Most would think that living the life I have was most similar to torture. But that was far from the truth. I was always in peace, I always had something to do, but life got better the day that Dahlia arrived. 

She was an eternal form of happiness. When I looked at her, I saw no beginning, no end, just an eternity. A forever warmth.

Tonight was the night I could see her up close, I could talk to her, I could dance with her. Every blue moon, a mysterious, powerful entity flows through the museum, bringing every piece of art on its walls to life. It was a day that all of us yearned for, excited to see our friends and our loved ones. The lights in my exhibit finally turned off and in just moments, a comforting breeze runs through the halls and past all of the paintings. I smile as I step out of my canvas and touch the marble floors with my bare feet. 

“Gregory!” A familiar voice echoes from down the hall. I turn my head in the direction it came from and see my best friend. “Lionel!” I shouted back as we ran towards each other. We share a brief embrace and begin to walk together. Lionel was a classical man, he wore a tailcoat suit and black loafers. His blonde hair was slicked to the side and he had a light mustache above his lip. I always joked about how he only needed a monocle to complete his look. “How’s the old farm treating you?” He asks, placing his hands behind his back in an elegant manner.

“Same old, same old,” I reply.

More and more people began to leave their paintings while sculptures regained their ability to move and speak. This was always such a wonderful night, but in just seconds, it became incomparable to anything else.

There she was. She was more breathtaking in person. Nothing could compare to the way she made my heart nearly jump out of my chest for merely existing. “I think I’m going to find Gladys, you seem like you have… rounds to make,” Lionel whispered, I nodded my head, not taking my eyes off of her. 

The symphonies had never been louder at this point, taking a deep breath, I found the confidence to approach her. I could tell she was confused, lost even. I lock eyes with her as I inch closer. Arching a brow, she stands her ground, waiting for me to get close.

She smelled of orchids, sunshine, and hints of a fresh breeze. The symphony in my head was at its climax. Violins sang, trumpets boomed, flutes roared, and the butterflies in my stomach thundered. She was taller than I’d thought, but no taller than me. I studied her for a moment before finally speaking my truth. “Might I say, you are infinitely more enchanting up close?”

Her doe eyes widen before she smiles. Those dimples. My, I could get used to that grin on her face. “I’ve never heard anyone use such a word to describe me,” she says softly. I take a deep breath when I hear her voice. A high-pitched, velvety, and hypnotic voice that I could listen to for hours. “And I’m gawked at by hundreds of people a day,” she grins gently.

“I could use a thousand more if you’d like me to,” I replied. She laughs and my breath hitches. Just then, I discovered my favorite sound. That hearty, silly laugh that erupted from her throat. When she falls silent, I take the opportunity to continue on with my words. “Would you like to spend your night walking through the city with me?”

She takes a moment to think, I don’t take my eyes off of her, not for a second. She had truly bewitched me and she had only spoken all but eleven words. She looked around at everyone who had begun to crowd around us, I hadn’t even noticed them until she turned her head, giving me a closer look at the detailed flowers embroidered into her bonnet. She turns back at me and smiles that enthralling smile. That smile brought the symphony back to its apogee. “Would you tell me the thousand words?” She asked.

“Two thousand,” I reply.

“A million.”

“As many as you’d like,” I voiced with a small smile, and I walked with her. No matter how tired my legs got, no matter how dry my throat became from speaking to her, no matter how queasy I became from simply inhaling that delicious orchid scent.

I walked with her on the blue moon after that as well.

On the fourth blue moon, we kissed. On the eighteenth blue moon, I told her I loved her, though I knew it long before I had even met her. On the fortieth blue moon, we laid together. On the eightieth blue moon, we celebrated the two centuries that had passed since we met.

There weren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe my Dahlia, but I made sure to use as many as I could. I waited two and a half years for just one day with her. She was worth it. She was worth it all. 

Every day during my wait, I yearned for her. I longed for her smile, her laugh, her touch. It ached as the endless days went by, but every single time I saw her, it was as if no time had passed at all. Until that day.

One month before the next blue moon, my canvas was taken from the hall.

I’ll never forget the chill that ran through my body when I woke up and discovered I couldn’t admire her anymore. Instead, what I saw was a dark room, with furniture covered by white sheets. It appeared abandoned, unloved and painted with sorrows. 

I had never wept before, I was never a man to cry. But that night I did. The night after as well. I cried my hardest on the night of the blue moon. As soon as I stepped out of my canvas I nearly tripped as I bolted towards the only door in the room. But it’s metal knob refused to twist no matter how hard I tried.

I even attempted to break it, but it was no use. I shed somber tears by myself while sitting against the door, there were no windows, no life. Just me, old furniture, and darkness. I had never truly gotten over my sudden loneliness, but I ceased with the crying. 

I was too tired to cry.

Instead, I felt a void, an emptiness, a cold numbness that sterilized me. For centuries I dealt with that feeling, or, it was really no feeling at all. For centuries I sat by myself, thinking of all the memories I had shared with my Dahlia. My sunlight, my orchid, my love. Memories of her kisses against my cheek, of her embracing me as soon as she stepped out of her canvas, her sweet, honey-coated giggle that made my symphonies reach their high.

Now, I heard nothing. It was silent in my head, There were no violins, no flutes. Instead, it was mute and grey. Centuries, I waited. Centuries later I gave up.

I sighed to myself, as it was another blue moon. I didn’t even feel like leaving my farm. I decided to tend to my land, ignoring the void begging me to step into it. I had just finished up in one area, a bag of autumn leaves thrown over my shoulder when I caught a glimpse of it. Something new.

I had been trapped in this room for hundreds of years, I’ve studied every corner, every inch, every detail. I squint my eyes to get a better look at it, and then I hesitantly step out of my canvas and slowly inch closer to it.

It was something flat… shaped like a square, and covered by a sheet. I run my fingers across the delicate cloth before leisurely sliding it off. My breath hitches and I lose all feeling in my face for a moment. It couldn’t have been real. It had to have been a fake. It’s… It’s my Dahlia.

My Dahlia. My darling Dahlia.

A gust of wind flies by me and I hear a delicious giggle echo from my left. I turn around to see her face. Her beautiful face. Her kind eyes peered up to mine and she formed a huge grin. My expression remained perplexed, I stood there in disbelief until she spoke, “Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me, Gregory?” She called out.

And there it was… just by hearing the sound of her voice. I heard it. I heard the violin, I heard the trumpet, the whistling flute. I heard every instrument in the world coming together to create a heavenly melody. 

It wasn’t as loud or chaotic as before, but instead, it was calm. It was enchanting. It made me feel as if I was walking through a meadow. A meadow where orchids laid and the sun shined as bright as can be. I felt at home, I felt happy.

We held each other for a long period. Not nearly as much as I needed. I wanted to be glued to her, to be with her for every moment of my lifetime. “Come with me,” I whispered in her ear. She tilted her head up at me, still caught in my tight embrace, “Come where?” Her delicate voice questioned. I break eye contact with her and look over to my canvas and back to her. She arched her brow, “In there? Is that even possible?”

“We don’t know if we don’t try,” I reply before gently releasing her from my hold. I back into my canvas with a smirk while she watches me with an amused expression. In a blur, I find myself back in my field, my farmhouse in the distance.

I stared at it for a few moments before turning around, and there she was. It worked. She made it. The sunlight shined on her and she appeared as breathtaking as she was when I first laid my eyes upon her. 

The symphony in my head continued to play as life went on. As I showed her how to take care of our farm. As we danced across the endless fields. As I chased our son around the kitchen while Dahlia held our daughter. I caught a glimpse of her as she watched the two of us, her sweet laugh echoed throughout the wooden walls. 

“An eternal form of happiness,” I whisper to myself. There is no beginning, no end, just an eternity. A forever warmth.