Flowers From 1970 - The Short Story

Flowers From 1970

(George's point of view)

One day, a man from 1970 gave me a call.
He had dirty blonde hair and compared to me, he's pretty tall.
He had lime green eyes and bigger hands I wish that I could hold.
And we'd spend hours in the evening talking on the telephone.

He's so full of himself and he likes making sadistic jokes.
But there's something that I'm so in love with in the - way he spoke.
And the way he draws, the way he sings along to his guitar.
If only the distance between us wasn't so goddamn far.

When I'm talking to him, that's the happiest I'll ever be.
And he makes me feel so special, I love it whenever he compliments me, tries to hide the fact that he's obsessed with me.

Went through the trouble of sending me flower seeds from 1970.

As I'm falling for him more and more, the more it'll hurt the day he leaves.
And when I hear his voice, it's like it's straight out of a dream.
I would do things for him that completely messes my routine
So even just for a minute, it'd feel like he's right next to me.

I would take time out of busy days so I could hear his laugh.
Listen to his favorite songs while staring at his photograph.
I needed him, I wanted him, right person but wrong time.
And on September 9, the telephone cord cut the line.

But you said it yourself, flowers from 1970 couldn't last that long and you were my Flower.
And for one last time I said Goodbye, old man.
You said You take care of those flowers, wrong number.

When I'm talking to him, that's the happiest I'll ever be.
And he makes me feel so special.

Oh when I'm talking to him, that's the happiest I'll ever be.
And he made me feel so special but it broke me when he asked for closure, proof that in 1970, a man who didn't even exist yet had loved me.

You said you just can't have your heart in 2020 with me.
When your heart belongs there in 1970.
Maybe in another life, we'd do the things we couldn't do so I'd hold you in my arms and tell you how much I love you.

One day, a man from 1970 gave me a call.
Now my only memories of him are handprints on the wall.
And that faded green paint, three familiar words were written under:

Once upon a time, same room, same house, fifty years apart
We had loved each other