The Eternal Season of Love

Flowers for my Lover

A small part of home.

Virat collected a mismatched bouquet from the hotel’s receptionist that had been left behind for him. Small tags were attached to the stems of almost all the flowers and shrubs in the bouquet. He turned one of the tags around to see sprawling cursive covering it.

Printed on my cap and jersey, the silver fern is home. A reminder that no matter where I go, home can be found in a sprig of leaves. Home is where the heart is.

He turned the next tag to find more almost illegible cursive that just toed the line of being impossible to read.

Dreams seldom come true but you close your eyes and your dreams become a reality. The golden pothos, for those that dream with their eyes open.

His hands began to shake as he turned the next tag.

Hanging above our heads whenever we meet, will you let me steal a kiss next time, my sweet? I apologise, this was the only rhyme that came to mind. Love and happiness greets me whenever you are near, mistletoe, a special gift for my heart.

Someone was standing behind him as he turned the next tag.

If everlasting youth had a face, it would be the face of the man holding these flowers. A special variety of buttercups native to home, mount-cook buttercups. My love never grows old, he stays young forever.

The next tag he turned was in the shape of a heart.

The shape of my eyes when I see you, the flamingo flower brings positivity with it wherever it goes. Pink, the colour of the sky when I first met you, my heart beats for you even when the flowers wither.

The last tag was yellow.

Te ura o te Kōwhai, the glow of the Kowhai (a common Maori saying). My life and my strength all lie in your hands.

“Who sent you that bouquet?”

With love,
Kane.