Every morning I wake up and do the same things on repeat. I kiss my wife goodbye and head out the door to work. As the days went on, I would leave the house without saying goodbye, simply because I did not have time to. I could not afford to be late for work. I would arrive home late by the time she was asleep. Sometimes I wondered if she had forgotten about me, but before I went to sleep every single night, I would walk into my kitchen. I would see my meal prepared waiting on the table for me, each and every night. There would always be a small note sitting right beside my cup. It would say one thing she loved about me every single night to remind me that she still thought of me, and loved me although I was busy.
One evening I got home earlier than normal, I was beyond excited to surprise her. I knew she would be thrilled to see me home early for once. As I approached the front door of my house, I held flowers in my right hand, and my palms started sweating and I felt nervous like the first time I ever met her. We were just young teenagers, walking through the park. She was just as beautiful as she is today. She was looking down at the beautiful sets of roses, that I now hold ones that were so similar in my hand. I bent down next to her and she whispered, "aren't they just wonderful." And our eyes met, as I whispered back, "Not as wonderful as you." I opened the front door and softly closed it behind me. I walked to the back porch, knowing thats exactly where she spent most of her days. I saw her, the book lying in her hands as she was facing away from me and over looking the beautiful meadow. "Baby, I'm home." I said with tears in my eyes. Her body was lifeless and I felt as if my world stopped. I knew I was too late. I could not bring myself to move. She was gone.
My neighbor now walks me to her grave every single evening, and I make sure to come home early every day just for this. I go and pick the roses from the place at the park where I met her. I hold them in my right palm, just as I did that day. I walk to the cemetery and one day my neighbor said to me, "I know she would've loved this." and I softly spoke back, "I just wish I had picked her a fresh flower every morning when she was alive. She would have loved that too."
