And there in between the lilies that stood along the wall and the roses blooming near the fountain she waited. She waited for things to change. For things to get better. For him to show up. For wishes to come true and for love to pass by closer than ever.

She sat quietly in her dress. It was thin, white, beautiful and had a small hole near her knee where she had fallen the summer before. As she looked at it it reminded her of how he had chased her through town and how it was then that she knew. She had finally found him.

And now she sat alone.

On the edge of the fountain, near the flowers, under the oak, in front of the pines, to the left of the willow, behind the orchids, to the right of the ivy, inside of the garden.

Here, even though he would not come, she was happy. Because she knew that her heart was already taken. Taken by a man who already called her bride. A man who already knew the taste of her lips and the smell of her hair. Who knew the thoughts of her depth and who asked the questions that even her conscious was afraid to ask.