Gemotions

The florist had a kind voice, but the words felt hollow. “Just a delivery, ma’am.” No name on the box, just a profusion of lavender and forget-me-nots. She clutched the arrangement to her chest, the delicate stems pricking her skin. She walked to the window, the sunlight streaming in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Each one seemed to mock her. The absence was a constant echo, a deafening silence. She sank into a chair, the flowers heavy in her arms, and the tears started to flow, a relentless tide.