Pure and lovely like the little rosebuds peeking through the dark red roses of gratitude next to pink ones of grace, he stood ready for his wedding. The zinnias of yellow, magenta, and white reminded him of those many who had died over the years. "First generation" who had passed before the cure came, who should have been celebrating today, yet they were somehow. White violets flirted with blue violets, reminding him to keep a sense of romantic fun in coming days. The resplendent passion-flower? Well, that spoke for itself, and he blushed and buried his face in the tulips for a moment. Today, this hour, each moment, he had longed for and imagined and replayed. His wedding, his beaming groom, his bridal bouquet.