Our life was a story of love.
Up until the present, it had been reciprocated.
Today I presented Joyce with a rose.
She wanted to know the occasion.
“I said,” it’s Valentine’s day.
“Is it?” She replied.
“Yes, and this rose is for you.”
“I didn’t know it was today; I haven’t got you anything.”
She looked perplexed as if the day had arrived unexpectedly.
Looking around the room, I could see her confusion.
On Valentine’s Day, we had flowers, bouquets and arrangements.
Mostly purchased by her.
She loved the sentiment the day came with.
I put my arms around her.
Her head rested on my shoulder.
She whispered in my ear:
“You mustn’t tell my husband, he’ll worry, you know.”
I held her in my arms.
“I’ll keep it our secret,” I said, brushing away a tear.