declaration

I never liked getting flowers. I felt it was too easy, the simple act of bestowing flowers upon a woman. Do it once, and you become a romantic hero. Do it twice, and you’re God. As a result, flowers become commonplace: birthdays and anniversaries. Every time, like a yawn at three in the morning. I didn’t want the cheap charade. Then you came, with your random acts of roses. I never know when and you never say much. You just know I love them. And I do.