He nearly passed her by. But something inside his heart prompted him to turn back and went over to look at this flower. She is a tiny insignificant thing presenting herself alone in the cold. She is the only flower in sight. There is a flaw on the outside of the petals. He would have walked by without glancing back.
Yet he turned his head and looked and then walked back to her. He looks at her from another angle and takes some shots. He keeps taking until he finds a perfect angle. Then he walks home.
He has not come this way for 1825 days. This time he comes for a break from the snow land for the warmer weather. This morning he decides to walk. And then he sees her.
She is beautiful from one angle. So is a woman in the snow land. She appears in his scene awhile ago. He has captured a perfect shot of her in the camera of his heart and stored the precious glimpse of her soul in his treasure chest.
It is just a morning in November and they have only met for two months. Someone says it is her birthday and he asks her whether she wants a meal or a present. He merely asks casually out of polite goodwill. She replies that she wants neither. She says a breakfast will do and she will provide her own tea. He can provide a cookie.
A day before that morning he walks to the pharmacy and buys her a Disney Pooh’s card on enjoying the little things in life and be someone’s reason to smile. He then decides to make her a proper gift. He googles and finds a picture of her holding her beloved dog (who has reached his full age and died a year before she comes to this land) and pastes it on a piece of A4 paper. Then he finds and pastes on it a Rudyard Kipling’s poem on “The Power of a Dog”, using human friendship (with a dog) to illustrate the inevitable sadness of parting after an investment of sentiment.
On her birthday she brews Starbucks coffee and butters a croissant for him. They sit across the breakfast table (in a house shared among three housemates) and he gives her the present. He says, “Be prepared to cry.” She cries. He never asks her why. He knows why.
Then a stormy relationship attempts to develop and they both crash at the take off runway.
Like this flower he finds by the roadside now there is a taint which is so glaring in one angle. Yet like this same flower there is a great beauty in her that more than covers whatever taint she has.
I will remember you. He says to the corner of his heart where he keeps his treasure of pictures of momentary glimpses of beauty. Will you remember me? He asks in silence.
Does remembrance really matter? He tries to remember all the women who had tried to love him before. But he could not reciprocate their passion, unlike the playing cards which he handles so well. Which card is his heart, spade or heart or diamond? Then he remembers the lyrics of a song, That’s not the shape of my heart.
She gets very upset when he doesn’t say he loves her. She wants him to say it. But he can’t. It is a life and death issue involved and that’s why he cannot say it to any woman. Can she not see in the sadness in his eyes?
Somewhere someone says, there is no greater love than this, laying down your life for the one you love. No, he does not know the size of his love, if any, and certainly not to the extent of laying down his life for someone, even a woman.
So here he is sauntering down a gentle sunny slope with a deck of new cards, and she, lost, two oceans away in the city of biography and reminiscence and childhood dream, none laying down their lives for one another.
He walks home slowly and sighs, “This flower is beautiful to behold, but there is a distinct flaw. ” Still he has decided to keep the two pictures, to remind him of this sunny morning and his encounter with this flower. “I love you. Come home.” He whispers in his heart to the girl named Peace. (To be continued)
a haiku for a girl named Peace
coffee croissant shared
thug life mug handled with care
ignore or beware
“#Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge, #CFFC https://ceenphotography.com/2019/12/10/cees-fun-foto-challenge-vibrant-colors-3/