The flowers
That I spent too long choosing
Lay heavy in my hands

The ride here,
Though less than an hour,
Felt like an eternity

As I sit in my car, idle,
Unmoving,
My mind refuses to slow down.

One too many thoughts race through my head at once,
None of them stick around long enough for me to process what is happening.

I open the door,
And the winter wind greets me like a slap to the face.
It crudely awakens me from my daze.

I clutch the flowers in my left hand,
Careful not to choke the life out of them.

I walk the same path I have walked dozens of times over,
Absentminded, unaware of anything else around me.

I stop, without looking,
Already knowing I'm in the right place.

I look at the flowers, still in my left hand.
I look up, my right hand has raised on its own,
My palm pressed against the wall.

The red roses in my hands are the only color around me.
The grey sky mimics the marble slates that surround me,
Each etched with stark black lines that tell a story.

I place my right hand over my heart,
And lay the flowers with my left.
I look up, trying to find your face in the sky.

"Until next time," I whisper, as I begin the retreat to my car.