Sweet, fresh lavender amplifies the longing for a place of comfort. 

A simple scent. 

A scent neither obscure to depict nor abstract to the nose. It perpetually embodies a state of tranquility—a sense of stability. When found in a place of unknown, it provides warmth. Trust is found in the depths of the scent, though it’s discovered only by those who are worthy. The lavender can sense a special spark of determination in the select few and fills only their air in hopes of making them better versions of themselves. 

The air begins to thicken with the heavenly scent, and you become the scent. You feel honored the lavender chose you. The lavender is now your companion, and you begin to feel the effect of the lavender. You begin to morph into something you were not before but always longed to be. The lavender is now not just a fantasy that you are unworthy of making a reality but so close to the truth that you are the fantasy. 

You provide a place of comfort. You embody a state of tranquility. You nurture a sense of stability and warmth. You provide a place of comfort. You embody a state of tranquility. You nurture a sense of stability and warmth. 

You worry if you will guide someone as well as the lavender guided you. 

The pressure whittles away at your bones, leaving them brittle, and an aura of defeat looms overhead. 

No one desires you as you did the lavender. 

The notion of defeat now does not loom over your head but encompasses your entire being. The spark that the lavender had embedded has now diminished. You begin to grow cold and apathetic—you begin to lose hope. You slowly start to lose sight of what the lavender taught you and default back into your old habits. 

You have become lonely.

What the lavender taught you now ceases to exist in your soul; however, as you hit rock bottom, you hear a whimper, a cry for help—a cry so familiar that you recognize you once had the same whimper. Somehow, a small flame ignites inside of you. It leaves you warm and spirited as you follow the sound of the whimper. The noise grows, and as you become hotter and hotter, the voice bellows with more strength and force. 

The voice is crying out for you.

The cry comes to a stop so sudden that you stumble. You panic, thinking you have lost your opportunity to tend to another. Your feet begin to shuffle towards a shadow. 

The whimper turns into words. Five words that make you thank the lavender. Five words that send a rush of relief down your spine. Five words that make you whole again. 

“Will you be my lavender?”