It wasn't the flowers that mattered.
It didn't matter where they came from.
It was the fact that I had them. Strewn in the back seat of the car, the flowers were a reminder of the growing relationship. With it's late night arguments and good morning kisses, we had found something beautiful.
As he entered the gas station, full of ambition and to-do list gumption, his smile felt real. The day events would be long forgotten after a deep sleep, but that smile stayed with me for days.
When he brought out the flowers, smile ever waving, I knew things would be ok. It wasn't the flowers that mattered.
His $3.99 purchase was heartfelt, even spontaneous. After all, it was well past Valentine's day. Without looking, I am sure the flowers best by date had come and gone. It didn't matter where they came from.
I reached for the flowers as he stepped in the car. Heavy lips met mine. I let the kiss soak in, making mental notes of this moment. I laid the flowers near the baby. Softly I whispered thank you, not wanting to ruin the simple gesture with unnecessary praise.
It was the fact that I had them. Thoughtful and sincere, the flowers seemed to be the most beautiful near death bouquet I had ever received. Without any other words, we drove off to finish that to-do list.
In the fading light of a winter's day, in the concrete playground of a gas station, the flowers meant we were going to make it, almost dead and all.
