Twirling Daisies

She gleans daisies because it reminds her of him.  She sits at the coffee shop twirling its delicate stem and watching the petals glide onto the table, in a motion much like her heart, as the hours pass and he does not appear at the door she watches so intently.  She continues to wait, and  in an overstimulated state from too much caffeine, she changes her order to distilled water.  This is her ritual every Friday afternoon.  The staff call her “Patience.”  Here is where they met; here is where they fell in love; here is where they parted ways.  She often thought of never returning, but the walls are still seeped in their laughter and endless hours of verbal exchange in the form of childhood stories and their adoration for each other.  She can still hear the conversation clearly amidst the atmosphere of clinking coffee mugs and the hushed murmur of blossoming love from the other patrons.  He would bring her daisies when they would meet once a week for their ritualistic Friday afternoon coffee.  It is the only flower she purchases now.  She feels it would be a betrayal to look upon any other petal.  It is the same reason she continues to return to this place.  To go anywhere else would be a slap in the face of their time together and the bond they had formed which she thought would never disintegrate.  

I wonder if I were to look through the window of this coffee shop 10 years from now on a random Friday afternoon if I would witness her sitting there, twirling a daisy and nursing her fourth coffee cup.  How we hold onto hope to the point of never moving on.  I nourish the vision of her twirling a rose one day and truly smelling it as she walks away.