The flowers I’d picked were fresh, I had no idea the name but they smelt good. But I’m not sure you deserve it Rhoda.
I am here, kneeling by your grave which is also the grave of my heart. The heart you stole forever and never gave back.
I promise myself every time to forget the past and start afresh, that every time I visited you would be my last time. But you call me home Rhoda. At work and I feel the sudden desire to be here and I come running, running to this God forsaken place that holds nothing for me; or does it?
Each time, I see the previous flowers; several petals scattered by the wind unto other graves. I wonder, do they feel your touch like I did when I still had you close to me; when I was foolish enough to think we had forever. Perhaps I didn’t treasure that time enough and now you’re gone.
The memories won’t stop coming, I wonder if you’re doing this to me from beyond. I’m happy if this is your doing but there’s a drop of sadness in this mixture. What will become of me??
Without your outstretched hands to lift me when I’m flat on my back, without your bright smile to light up my gloomy and dark days; without your healing words to calm the tempest in my soul; without you to subdue and satisfy my desires.
The tears are coming now Rhoda, and I feel a drop slide down my cheek and unto the ash concrete of your grave.
I wish I still had you with me. I wish I could join you where you are so we can be together forever, just as we promised each other.
I fear. I’m too much of a coward and I lift myself from your grave. But I know what I must do to be with you.
I walked home just as I’d done every week for the past five years, with the knowledge of what to do and the courage to do it. As well as an equal size of cowardliness and the knowledge that I’d never do it.