A short Love Story on June 17th


“He started the card by writing, “Roses are red, violets are…,” but he never finished.”

How could he possibly give her something so cheesy. He’s trying to profess his love here, not give up his dignity of being a man. There’s nothing that says I love you like stating the obvious. “Roses are red, violets are blue”, but violets are purple, he’s never seen a blue violet, not that he gazes at flowers for any length of time anyway; but roses can be yellow, white, and pink too. What a joke. He loves her, he can’t lie to her on top of that, “violets are blue” psht. 
It’s the first time that he’s trying to tell her that he loves her. He wants her to know, but he doesn’t know how to say it. Too straightforward could scare her away, too subtle, she may not even know he’s trying. For so long she’s told him that he never puts in effort, well he does, but she doesn’t feel like he cares. He used to do cute, romantic things for her, but now he doesn’t. She feels like they’re drifting apart. 
He wants to keep cool about it though. How on earth can he be cute and romantic, he  doesn’t remember ever being like that with her, but apparently she does. He’s going to her house later for dinner and he wants her to know. “But it’ll be awkward”, he thinks. But would it. She’s been waiting for him to tell her that he really cares for quite some time now. She cares about him so much and she loves him too. But she’s also yet to tell him, because of her questioning his caring, she’s afraid to say it. She doesn’t want to be rejected. 
It’s not Valentines Day or their anniversary or Christmas even. There’s no special occasion at all, just a regular June 17th. But what a day for both of them it will be. He plans, but can’t even think straight. He loves her, that’s all he knows, but how can he make such an ordinary thing special and unique. She’s over there laboring over a stove to make the perfect meal, his favorite though he’ll never admit it; mac & cheese and hot dogs.. a real classy guy, but she’s perfectly happy with that. 
She’s getting anxious. To the point where she just wants to say it to get his reaction over with, she loves him so much it hurts not to tell him. 
As he walks to her house, he keeps coming up with different things to say, none of them perfect in his mind, though any one of them she would melt over. The closer he gets to her, the more nervous he is, the more he doesn’t know what to say or do. He knows that it must be tonight he does something, but what?
She sets he table. Awaiting his arrival, should be any second now as she looks at the clock. Tick tock, tick tock. Her heart is beating along with it. She knows she must tell him tonight and take whatever consequence comes from it. \
He knocks on the door. He see’s some daisy on the ground as she opens it.
They look at each other. Both suddenly with a big lump in there throat.
“Hello”, she finally says.
The things in his mind go in circles. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say or how to say the things he doesn’t know how to say. 
“Daisies are white”, He blurts out.
“I-“, she starts.
“And I’ve never seen a blue violet in my life.” He continues. 
She just stares at this insane guy. What in heaven’s girth is he doing?
“And roses can be many colors, though people only get yellow when they’re dead. And I can’t understand because yellow roses aren’t that bad looking actually.”
She doesn’t know how to respond to this, but she suddenly has the urge to kiss him on the cheek so she does. “Come in”, she says.
“No!” He exclaims. “I can’t.”
“And why not?”
“Because I have to do something first.” He looks at this girl he met three years ago, oh how her patience is my biggest virtue. I want her, he has to say it.
“I love you”, she says quietly, shyly. 
“But-but I was supposed to say it first, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.” He said.
“I know. That’s why I said it.” She looked at him nervously. “No guy ever talks about flowers like that with a girl unless he loves her.”
They stood there looking at each other. Each of their nerves wanted to look away, but they couldn’t.
“I-“, he stammered, he was just about to say it, but it wouldn’t come. Why wouldn’t it come it was true, he was one-hundred percent sure of it. “I-“.
“I know”, she smiled softly and took his hand. “Come in, I cooked you your favorite meal. And don’t deny it this time.”
They walked in the house, enjoyed their meal, held good conversation, and looked at one another in a new way. 



One thought on “A short Love Story on June 17th

  1. Pingback: A Short Love Story

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