Her Eternal Marigold Flower [short story]
Memories that last forever
Despite being a romantic, she was never one to appreciate big gestures. What captivated her was the subtle evidence of love and tenderness.
There were a few big surprises men had prepared that touched her, like when a boyfriend, who was supposed to be abroad for another week, suddenly jumped out from a box in her office, confessing he couldn’t stand being apart from her any longer.
Then there was that time when the man she had madly fallen in love with had a burst of passion and shouted with all his strength that he loved her, and he wished he could spend the rest of his life with her. Having him so passionately confess his love for her — him, who would never lose his composure — was heartbreaking. It could have been a wonderful moment wasn’t he engaged to another woman. And that compromise he would never break — said he in the same breath. She loved that moment as much as she hated it.
Throughout her life, several men romantically showed their affection for her. But it was him, with the simplest action of all, that offered her the sweetest, loving romantic memory. The one that became eternal.
They had been dating for several weeks and their hearts were merged. They were purely in love with each other. Love isn’t rational, and they never sought words to explain their feelings. They just knew.
That morning, rushing to work, as usual, something in the car caught her attention. Under the windshield, resting over a small envelope, was a bright yellow marigold flower.
Carefully, she held the gift, opened the envelope and read the words, “You are special. I love you.” She brushed the petals over her cheeks while his hand-scripted words sank into her soul.
The discreet fragrance of the recently picked up flower made her travel in time, to the previous night, when she was wrapped in his arms after they made love. That moment was special for her — the after sex, where their bodies were still joined but no longer aroused, and their emotions were attuned. The closeness she felt to him was unique; on no other occasion, she felt so peaceful and connected to him.
She was still standing outside her car, frozen in time. There was no rush anymore; nothing else mattered. Only the beauty of the yellow flower and the six words that captioned it.
Returning to her reality, she went back to her flat; she wanted to eternalise his offer, only the memory of it wouldn’t be enough.
In her living room, she ran her fingers through her book collection until she found the one she was looking for: the one he gave her the week before. She flipped the cover of the book, read again the poetic inscription he wrote, and carefully laid the fragile flower in between the pages, with his card. She closed the book, landed a smooth kiss, whispering “I love you, too” and returned the book to the shelf.
From that day on, every time her eyes caught the book that sheltered the marigold flower, she smiled. Only she knew the reason the book caused her such warmth and happiness.
Many single flowers and bouquets came after the marigold, but none touched her heart as the one in the book.
Years passed by, and the hidden flower became an eternal evidence of the love they shared.
She doesn’t smile when looking at the book anymore. Actually, she stopped looking at it. When her eyes try to find it, she stops herself. She is tired of crying. She can’t deal with grief anymore.
The marigold flower is one of the few things she kept from him. And like everything else that reminds her of him, she keeps it hidden. Hidden from her sight, never from her heart.
One day, she hopes to pick up the book again, to see his handwriting on the first page, to absorb the six words written on the card and to hold the marigold flower again. But not today.
Like her, the flower is dried, empty of life. But, like her, it’s full of happy memories. And those can never die.
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