eight roses

March 8th

A familiar man walked into the flower shop. “I like this one”, he said to the woman behind the counter.
“Nice choice, you must want to impress someone”, an old lady said instantly. “She is very lucky.”
The man smiled and put out the cash for the vendor lady. “Thank you, have a pleasant day”, he said leaving the store.
“They all remember we’re important on this day, right?”, the old lady commented with a note of irony in her voice.
“Don’t be like that, neighbour. This gentlemen comes in every week and always buys the same bouquet. I specially order a small amount of hydrangeas for that”, replied the woman behind the counter.
“Ahh he’s a keeper then!”, said the old lady.
He was buying a bouquet of roses for the love of his life every week. He would go to the flower shop, choose the same beautiful flower combination and pay the nice lady. Roses with hydrangeas.
For years this was his weekly tradition. His show if love.
He walked into the cold, foggy cemetery and left the flowers on the dark ground. He stood like that for a half an hour. Sometimes he even talked, but sometimes he was simply silent. It was like he was trying to listen. And maybe he heard. Maybe he didn’t. But he never gave up trying.

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