Why I’ll Always Buy the Sunflowers
Forgetting is okay, as long as I eventually remember
I bought sunflowers for her. It wasn’t my fault, but like always, I’m the one buying the flowers.
Love songs swarm around my ear like flies, buzzing lyrics on how true love comes with its quarrels. But they never told me how silly the causes can be. The most insignificant sentence uttered morphs laughter into silence, joy to anger, security to despair. Memories of love built over years become locked away as arguments of our present hide away the keys.
Yet as I drive over, I observe the streets we walked along, her fingers clasping mine. A jingle we laughed over comes on the radio, and the quickest flash of her smile dashes across my mind. I feel her warmth as we cuddle in her bed, watching a show neither enjoys.
And I remember why I’ll go to her waiting arms every time, sunflowers in hand:
They’re her favorite flowers.
