Love happens to the least likely of us.
They say that when someone feels a flash of real, honest-to-goodness love, a new type of flower grows out of the barren topsoil of the moon. Its seeds are scarlet, for passion, and its petals are silver, for grace. Such flowers are extremely rare. They need the warmth of love to commingle with the light of the sun; only then is the temperature right–and real, honest-to-goodness love almost never happens.
I want you to know that, if this legend were true, there would be enough moonflowers to make up several bouquets. I would be sprouting gorgeous, silvery moonflowers everywhere. And I would do whatever it took to pluck them from the surface of the moon give them to you; these moon bouquets would be an offering of my affection, of my devotion.
Don’t let the dream end.