A gloomy day, rain tapped our windows I filled the roses in their pot I watered the tulips, like i do a lot I filled the white daisies, the flower of lows. I waited at the counter, a small grin on my face Watching the old man walk in, seemingly in the wrong place? He seems distraught, yet that’s probably why he’s in a black suit and tie. He paid in cash, a small tear hit his coin I avoided eye contact, for I know his tear would mean. “See you in awhile.” He said to me I hope when he returns, he’ll value these white daisies leaves like me. I forgot the old man as time came and went I never expected him to come again yet when i saw the rain pellet on the window the old man eased him, his face mellow. He slowly slid toward the bright white daises he grabbed one by its stem, and slid his thumb over the leaves he loves them like me He paid in cash his small smile a mask i know he hurts within hopefully he finds him a new friend year two strolled in like the old man and his empty hand as normal, the rain rolled down the window again he smiled at me his mask up, never to end This year, unlike previous his clothes casual, jeans and jacket his smile more genuine, im curious he pays cash, he’s hurried, he’s in and out like magic. His change in demeanor is new i wonder if he moved on in time yet i feel like he’s trying to do what he needs too instead of healing his mind year 3, me and this man the rain on the window and the white daisies in their pot and can. I glance down, and see my black suit, my confusion is— Oh. I glance back up to the man, and my eyes slide to the side I see where he ends on the left of the mirror, I sigh. My feet have been stuck in the same spot, since i walked in. my heart drops, I reach my hand into the pot I think about everything that was, and now is not. I wonder if i’ll make it to year 3 like my mind showed me. I wander to the counter slowly I set my daisies down and a smile to the mirror shows me That my wrinkles are far worse and maybe i’ll be next in a hearse. the cashier hands me my change, and I leave the florist shop in a rage. I wish my wife would’ve told me she wouldn’t make it or stay I would’ve asked her for her favorite flowers before she passed away.