I love you, dear.

56 1 0
                                    

“Good morning, dear” the old man spoke as he sat up from his bed and placed his feet upon the fluffy rug atop of the laminated wooden floor, but his spouse didn’t respond

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

“Good morning, dear” the old man spoke as he sat up from his bed and placed his feet upon the fluffy rug atop of the laminated wooden floor, but his spouse didn’t respond. He smiled sadly before standing and nearing his frame before slowly getting to the regular sized bathroom. Two toothbrushes sat in the mug with ‘50th anniversary’ written in funky letters, and as he neared his hand to it, he paused. As his head raised up to look at his own reflection it hit him, like every morning, just how old he was getting. His once bright big eyes hidden under drags of skin that worked themselves down after what felt like the countless years he had been on this earth, the ghost of a smile hidden even further beneath the unkept beard he had given up on long ago. But older meant wiser right? He wished he believed it whenever he spouted it out in front of nieces and nephews. And now he felt merely alone, his partner of so long no longer present in spirit, but he didn’t hate him for it was not his fault.

The sound of the toaster bouncing up the crumpets into the air brought a small smile to the old man, his husband’s favourite breakfast. Placing the two plates on their coffee table, he sat beside his spouse’s favourite armchair and grabbed at the side to find the remote for the tv. After turning the tv onto his husband’s favourite show he swore he heard an airy chuckle resembling his. He let out one himself before beginning to eat at his breakfast, thinking of what the day could possibly bring.

“Let’s go out, dear” he smiled as he placed his favourite hat upon his head and wrapped the scarf that his husband used to always beg him to wear, a present from their first anniversary. A quiet ride on the bus later he arrived at the town centre, stopping at a flower shop to pick up a bouquet of carnations. After paying and walking towards the petite local church he took a deep breath, nearing a certain bench, under a certain tree, next to a certain someone. He slowly bent down until he was on his knees, not caring for the dirt on his trousers, and picked out the old flowers from the vase that stood in front of the grave- only to replace them with the new, bright, white carnations. “I miss you, dear” his tears ran down his cheeks, small droplets falling where his husband lay.

𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 ; 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦Where stories live. Discover now