“You know why I admire wisteria so much?” my friend Melody used to ask, pointing to the stubborn vines clinging to the trees. The air would be thick with the flowers’ sweet perfume, her eyes a brilliant green against the purple sky we were under. “Despite everything, it keeps growing.”

When she died, the world seemed to mourn her. The birds’ songs stopped having meaning, the stars lost their glimmer, and the oceans raged. Even Melody’s beloved wisteria drooped lower, the purple blossoms glittering like amethysts she used to wear on her ears. There is often beauty in sorrow, and the wisteria wore its sorrow with pride.

It used to infuriate me, the fact that the wisteria’s beauty increased each day. How dare this wisteria be more beautiful than love itself, when my love had gone away? I wanted to destroy it, to erase every touch of Melody. Instead, I stopped visiting the trees, dispelling the stunning image of cascading wisteria from my mind.

Now, I find peace beneath the trees, the velvet petals brushing my cheek. I think about Melody and the endless memories we shared together. I realize now that being reminded of her isn’t a bad thing, but rather, helps my heart heal. I am alive, and if I keep remembering, Melody will also stay alive. Like the wisteria, my love for Melody will continue growing, and that is enough.