Flowers.

Such beautiful things, dainty and delicate

One wrong shake and the petals will fall

A flower shop.

A attempt to savor the bright colors of the plants

To give them to your lover.

An old man wearing a red coat.

He’s balding, grey hair thinning with age

He’s here for a

single

red

rose.

A pattern, I’ve noticed

He comes in every Wednesday morning.

He barely speaks.

The only words he says is “one red rose please.”

I’ve memorized the way he says it.

It’s giddy, the way he says it.

Like he’s a teenager giving a rose to his crush.

I asked him once about it.

He shook his head, grinning.

He never did answer me.

He stopped coming one day.

Weeks went by

And I eventually stopped getting his order ready every Wednesday morning.

A old lady enters the shop, smiling at me warmly.

Grey hair with streaks of white in it.

She leaned on the counter, with a twinkle in her eye, and said

“One red rose please.”