𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 | 𝐱

remembering you

may 16, 1983.

good morning, love. 

although i do love you with every fiber and tissue in my body, i must say,

i hate you.

i hate you for leaving me.

i hate your scent that still wafts around every corner of the house.

your empty presence is everywhere.

you're everywhere.

you always loved looking at the flower shops decorations.

you couldn't not stop by every flower stand to smell the pale sweet peas.

the french tulips.

above all, your favorites were snowdrops. 

you always asked the flower stands the same thing every day, "good morning, do you happen to have any snowdrops today?" in your sweet, quiet voice.

they'd always shake their head and say, "no, ma-am,"

you'd nod and continue asking every stand for snowdrops.

remember when this dumpy old man tried to sell you lilies of the valley for a ridiculous price, insisting that they were snowdrops?

you knew, you knew they very much were not snowdrops. why'd you buy them?

you said, "his family has been struggling, dear. i just bought one bouquet for the price of five, imagine how much that would help them."

you loved rain.

whenever it rains in gloomy amsterdam, i see you.

you used to sit in the muddy fields, the flowers wrapping around you.

letting the rain encase you.

your hair would plaster down to your head and envelope your face.

for some reason, i loved seeing that form of you.

i guess, there isn't much point in reminiscing. 

i'm forgetting. i don't want to forget.

wait for me, love.

-x