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Rated: E · Short Story · Death · #2250717
A man talks to his lover amidst blooming flowers
"Do you remember how pretty it used to be this time of year, Julia?"

Marcus looked out over the scene, pink flowers for miles around. It was their favorite spot in town, and they came every year, many times a month in the spring.

"Of course, the tulips were late that year. We kept waiting for them to bloom and they took their sweet time." She smiled slightly at the memory. "I wish I had brought a jacket, it's chilly out." She declared, standing up. He stood up too, wrapping his arms around her pale skin in a fruitless attempt to warm her. She chuckled, and the mood improved.

"What did you eat today?" She asked after some silence.
"Just a salad, and some coffee this morning."
"What did it taste like?"
"The coffee was smooth, black, and bitter, just as I like it."
She closed her eyes, imagining the taste. Then she grimaced.
"I remembered it too well!." She laughed. "What about the salad?"
"Oh, you know. The lettuce was crunchy but didn't really taste much, and the dressing was tangy Italian. The carrots added and the grilled chicken was tender and flavorful. I wish you could have joined me, it was quite a feast." He joked, trying to make his mundane lunch seem grand for her sake.
"Sounds wonderful." She sounded distant now. He kissed the top of her head, worried.
"Anything wrong?"
"I have to go soon."
"Not again. Don't leave me again." He pleaded, holding her against his chest in a tight embrace. "You can't go."
"I'm sorry, Marc."

And just like that, his arms were empty. He sighed, fighting back tears. Every time...

He gathered an armful of tulips and trudged down to the graveyard at the bottom of the hill, depositing them at a headstone marked "Julia"
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