She took a breath. “That passion isn’t a fire. It’s a garden. You don’t find it. You tend it. Every day. In the rain. In the dark. You show up, you pull the weeds, you wait for the bloom. And sometimes—sometimes it’s just one flower. But that one flower is everything.”
“That’s sentimental,” he said.
He stayed until the rain stopped. Then he came back the next day. And the next. City of Love - Lesson of Passion
He laughed, a rusty sound. “Is it that obvious?” She took a breath