The Autumn breeze cool to the skin, hands intertwined as they run to their secret spot.
Children’s laughter, unconditional companionship.
Bumpy fields thrive with yellow sunflowers, reaching high over eager heads. Surrounded by trees and the sound of a shallow river snaking around two neighboring houses.
Dirty hands and scratched up knees from making mud pies and sweet tea.
A tire swing blowing back and forth in the wind, the fray of the rope promising destruction.
His blonde curls flopping up and down as he disappears into the sunflowers, only to resurface holding the perfect one.
An offering. And in return, acceptance. Mutual happiness. Mutual bliss.
The sound of two mothers announcing dinner time. And the feeling of disappointment that the day is near its end.
The repetition of this day, the journey to the secret spot. A sunflower, the perfect one, every day. Eight short years pass the same.
Until one day she stops receiving flowers. Not even broken ones.
Their secret spot becomes not so secret anymore.
And he stops showing up all together. Her smile fades. Contagious happiness to aching nothingness.
Soon, the warm feeling in her chest no longer exists.
Even so, he doesn’t look back at her contaminated soul- broken, shattered, unforgiving.
The sunflowers a continuing reminder of what was and will never be.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.