VidaraA

My husband died in the war. He was the sun in my life and I was the earth spinning around him. And, we all know the earth can't live without its sun. Then, as I am coming back from his grave one day, five yellow flowers are laying there on my doorstep. The first night I threw them in the bin, the memory too bitter. My husband used to take me to a field every morning and give me a flower. Then when he died, I burnt them all in hopes of being able to forget him. Then the next day, I carefully took them out and placed them in a jar, regretting last nights decision. But it all happened when I smelt them. Their intoxicating scent painted pictures in my mind. Pictures of times we had wanted to relive the most. The flower held memories. They were so vivid... so real. But were they deep enough to cut through the thick fog my husband's death had left behind? Or did it break me even more than I already had been broken? And where did they come from? Did my husband want to communicate with me from the dead? Or was I just dreaming all along?…