The Bouquet That Makes Me a Little Sadder Each Year
A gesture of love stirs up the pain
6 pm: Work done for the day, but I’m just going to kill some more time.
7 pm: It’s starting to get boring. The whole office is completely deserted.
8 pm: I need to pack up and leave. I can’t spend the entire night just sitting here.
The ride back home is cold and lonely. Today more than any other day, people on the bus feel like strangers. Why is no one nice to me? Why am I being ignored?
An old lady looks at me and smiles. Usually, I would send a big and bright smile back her way — not today. The sweet gesture only wakes profound melancholy hiding somewhere deep within me.
The night gets colder, and the sharp wind cuts through my coat. I walk home hands in my pockets and eyes on the pavement. I want to get into bed.
I finally get home.
I know what I’m going to find. It’s no longer a surprise. I open the building door, walk up the three flights of stairs.
There, on the floor, waiting for me against the door is a tall and beautiful bouquet of roses.
With a heavy heart, I stop and smile a sad smile. I fight back the tears.
