Everlasting Valentine

I have never been good at buying flowers for you, you know that.

Too many different colours, different types.

You like roses; the deepest red, a flame with passion, symbolic of the romance we still share.

But never to be mixed with white roses, you said;

Blood and bandages, that’s all it brings to mind.  Unlucky.

I feel the true meaning of that word sometimes, too.

 

I buy you a dozen roses - just red, of course – and set off.  My heart picks up pace; soon, I will be there, at your side, the frequent visits that I look forward to so much.

Just the two of us, the world blocked out.  I like that.

In the windows of the shops I walk past, Cupid grins and the pinks and reds on display give light to the slowly greying day.

How we seem to go mad for days like this!

 

The gate swings shut with its usual creak.  I walk the usual way, with the usual butterflies taking wing somewhere inside me.

And then there you are.

I lay the roses at your feet, such a Romeo am I!

You don’t smile, you don’t speak. Silence has never been so empty.

But then what else am I to expect?

 

I made sure the stone looked clean for today.  Made sure every letter engraved gleamed so much I could see my face in each.

The only place your face remains is in my memory.

I step back and admire the scene; the stone, the cut grass, the roses. You make an image beautiful only by having your name to it.

How do you do it?

The other stones begin to swim. What are these?  Tears?  I can’t say I haven’t been holding them back. A part of every day is a blur to me for this simple reason.

 

I’ll be back tomorrow, no doubt about that.  It’s a must.  A need.

I will trudge home with my heart in my shoes and a mind only concentrated on one thing - you.  Simplified, like only buying one type of flower.

Sleep well, my everlasting Valentine.