The little girl placed the flowers at the grave.
She held her mother’s hand and sobbed.
The little girl looked up at the cloudy sky.
Mother held the girl close and began walking back to the car.
As they left, the flowers placed by the little girl were not the only ones at the grave.
Nicely arranged, in a glass vase, their hues reflect in the ambient lighting. The flowers have a pure gold lining. I can see that he has spent a lot on them.
They are my valentine’s gift from him. However, I know it is not just a gift. He has sent the flowers because he could not come meet me. Just like every other week. It is an apology. The flowers do look pretty, but I hate them. He does not even remember that about me. The flowers are completly fake.
Full Of These Fragrant Flowers.
He sat there everyday, against the wall that showcased his life’s work, his passion, his art.
He would smile back politely at the passers by who would shower him with praises and flowery words.