Purple Tulips

I sat on the small white bench, with my legs stretched out and ankles crossed. I had the same pen in my hand and the same notebook on my lap for three hours now. I wanted to write, I had to write. My sanity depended on it. I needed to get back up on my feet. After five months of an idle column, it was time for me to write a small entry at least; about anything, just anything. I couldn’t stay focused, yet nothing my mind wandered to helped either. My sister was in Cancun and my mother had jury duty today. Big deal. I didn’t want to write about either of those things. I tried to force myself to think up a truly brilliant idea, but that just made me want to think even less. What is happening to me?

Throughout my daydreaming, I happened to glance down at my left freckled hand. I saw that ring; the Irish promise ring. If that ring could talk, what stories it would tell. Some of my best memories lay in that ring, including Brad. His strong arms that always protected me and the look of love in his eyes...that’s what I missed most. My mind drifted back to three years ago, when we were happy and alive; when we had everything under control.

The dark hunter grass was short and sharp. The smell of fresh cut grass swayed side to side from the slight breeze on that beautifully dim evening. Yellow, purple, pink, orange… the flowers were like small children at a play date. They all moved together and never drifted apart. Everywhere we turned, flowers were blooming and the scent of lilac would get caught in your nose. We walked along the path, with tiny earth-toned stones and pebbles under our toes. The sun was low, with the colors of the rainbow accompanying it in the sky.

We walked hand in hand, at a pace suitable for an old couple. Brad was in love with nature, just as I was with words. They understood him and explained the things he couldn’t find words for. His passion for nature was priceless and unforgettable, at that. Brad picked me a purple tulip; he always remembered they were my favorite. He whispered sweet nothings into my ear, as I giggled like a schoolgirl. The nature surrounding us did not speak, but the silence said it all. Brad and I found love in each other and thought things would last forever. Things would last just like bark on a tree that was hundreds of years old or flowers that spurt from the ground annually. We could count on each other, just as we could count on the plants’ arrival every year.

The sun started to set, as Brad and I rested on the crispy green grass. That day was coming to an end. It happens, I guess. I didn’t realize it at the time, but if I had, I would still explore the gardens all day with him. I would do it in a heartbeat. I liked his passion and how every flower sat comfortably and naturally between his fingers. I wish I would have never disposed of that precious and patient purple tulip. The distant memory of that purple tulip and day in paradise are all I have left to write about.