Bright yellow sunflowers lie on the hardwood table where I wait for you. It’s a gloomy day; the brief winter chill in the air and low hanging clouds make it almost blasphemous for the bouquet of the flower to look so bloody beautiful. As I tap my fingers against the table waiting for you, I see them. Us. Sitting on the same hardwood bench we first met, sharing their embarrassing stories over coffees, one expresso, and the other latte. A sad smile takes over my face as I reminiscence the afternoons of spring and evenings of monsoon we spent here, talking for hours, almost forgetting the coffee and cigarettes.
Now, I sit here alone, sipping the coffee, while my heart aches as it finds something to fill the void you left. My eyes betray me as they steal a glance now and then towards the small blue door of the café, hoping you’ll walk in and I’ll get to see your scotch brown eyes light up once more as they catch my glimpse, but alas, my brain knows better than for those doors to swing open.
Hour after hour passes, the box of cigarettes in my bag is almost over, and my coffee is long gone. The evening sun already bid its farewell and now twinkling bulbs of the café shine over my head as I still wait, wait for you to come back, wait for chaos, the memories play in my head to go away. My fingers hurt now as they keep tapping the table out of habit but then without the purpose and hope of an impending visitor. I remember the last time I met you here, the warmth of your hand in mine intertwined in an almost ironclad grip; you didn’t want to let go, and neither did I. But as the last call for orders is announced, I realize you’re long gone, and I am the one holding on, holding on to the empty hope and promises.
As “Without Me” by Halsey blares in my ears, I walk out with the bouquet of sunflowers which gave up their façade of bright and lovely beings and now lie limp, waiting to wither away. I stand on the very pavement where I saw you last, there are still so many stories we are yet to share so many memories we need to make but not all stories, not all memories need to be shared, sometimes the stories are short for a reason, they are meant to end there even if you don’t want to, like that book you read too fast which ended too soon, and now you sit waiting for the next one, but for us, there is no next book, no next chapter. As I leave the sunflowers on the pavement, bidding them a tearful adieu, I see a lanky figure standing with a single sunflower looking at the empty road; our eyes meet for a brief second, we share a limp smile. As I ride away on my bike, I realize that he was there for the funeral of sunflowers as well.
