White flowers.
Everyone kept sending him white flowers. Some people gave him cards, all with the same words, "I'm sorry for your loss," printed in the same font in the same black ink.
At first, he was thankful for everyone's kindness and understanding. But now their gifts, and ugly white flowers, were a horrible reminder.
A reminder of the one he loved, the one he lost so suddenly.
The side of the bed where she used to lay was still unmade. He remembered the hurried rush she had been in that last morning, running late for work and barely pushing the sheets up.
That was the last memory he had of her. How she ran to say goodbye to him, slightly out of breath and smearing her lipstick slightly when she kissed him.
Jin looked at the picture of her in his hands. It had been crumbled many times from him crying with anger, then unfolded so he could see her face again. He couldn't separate the new tears from the old on his cheeks.
But the more he studied the picture, her bright smile and beautiful eyes shining for him as if she was really there, he noticed that she was holding something in her small hand.
A white flower.
