She had never seen his eyes so bright as the time that he revealed the pure white rose from behind his back: his first gift to her. Like the rose, he was perfect. She studied the rose, observing the silky petals and gingerly rubbing them between her finger tips. The thorns were just touching her left palm and the sweet smell of passion drifted up to her senses. Pure white. None of the petals were torn or misshapened the slightest bit. Perfection.

While changing into her gown for the evening that awaited her she heard a small nervous knock at the door. A bridesmaid quickly stood and scurried to the door and hastily returned giving the mint colored box to the bride. She opened the box hesitantly but with excitement and found a singular pure white rose lying on a plush cushion of ivory silk. It was perfection.

She walked down the isle as family and friends turned to awe at her and the singular pure white rose that rested ever so gently between her hands. Her hazel eyes shifted from the rose to the alter at the front of the church. She had never seen his eyes so bright and filled with love for her. She glanced at the rose once more and smiled to herself. This was perfection.

He stood there, his eyes so bright from the watery memories and years of love. His grey hair was parted neatly on top of his bowed head. In one hand, his polished cane from years of use. In the other, a pure white rose. He studied the rose, observing the silky petals and gingerly rubbing them between his finger tips. None of the petals were torn or misshapened the slightest bit. He laid the rose on top of the closed mahogany box in which his love slept peacefully. He whispered, “You are perfection my dear.”