Black Sheep

After our late-night talk I drifted off to sleep, Harry kissed the top of my head, and I snuggled closer.
“I really love you Bex,” was the last thing I heard.

The next morning I woke up I instinctively cuddled into the other side of the bed, but there was no-one there. I snapped my eyes open in confusion and searched the room and found a daisy on the pillow where Harry’s head usually was. A post-it note was stuck to the pillow under it:

"The rose has but a summer reign,
The daisy never dies"
For my undying love
X

I pulled on my underwear and an old t-shirt (I learned quite early on that with Harry around you never know what’s behind the door, so it isn’t ideal to be naked). I placed my hand on the door handle when I noticed another post-it note on the back of the door:

You’re going the wrong way
X

It clicked: it was a treasure hunt. I turned and headed toward the terrace door. My foor brushed against something left lying on the floor, half expecting Harry’s clothes in a pile, but there was a beautiful white orchid plant, with a post-it note on the pot:

“I am the happiest white soul under the blazing sun
the warmth that fills me, can make the orchids smile”
For how happy you make me
X

I smiled and picked up the pot, and the daisy, and the notes, and opened the door onto the terrace. The cold London air hit me, and my bear legs were instantly covered in goosebumps. I didn’t care though; I only cared about finding what was for me next. I circled the terrace, and my eyes stopped by the door. A tulip in a jam-jar sat on the little step into the spare room, with another post-it stuck to it:

“Two lips in bloom,
They are finally ready to act when words fail,
This one kiss amongst the tulips.”
For how perfect you are to me
X

If this carries on any longer I’ll be an emotional wreck. It basically described what happened last night. I sighed, leaning against the small wall between the two doors. No-one had ever done anything like this for me; it was all a bit much. As I straightened up, I saw a sunflower, stuck to the outside wall with it’s post-it note:

“If there’s one that I love,
It’s the love of my life, my sunflower.”
For how much I adore you
X
I popped the sunflower and the daisy into the little jam-jar with the tulip and took one last look around the terrace before heading into the spare room. There on the bedside table, lay a single sprig of Jasmine on top pf it’s post it:

“The wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart,”
For your elegance and grace
X
I sighed and took a few deep breaths. I was just about to cry at all this and I’d held it in for so long. I carried on with my search but there was nothing in the spare room at all. I picked up my flowers and headed for the door. My hand paused on the door handle, I was apprehensive of what was behind it. But nonetheless, I took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. I wasn’t greeted by a sea of flowers, or carpet of petals, but a small box left on the breakfast bar. My mind came to the obvious conclusion. I knew Harry was impulsive, and I knew that he couldn’t wait for a wife and a family, but was that necessarily to be with me? And did it have to be this early in our relationship? I carefully placed the flowers down, and with shaking hands opened the box. My breathing stopped quivering when no glistening ring was in the box, but was filled to the brim with small white lilies of the valley. I emptied all of them out, looking for the post-it note, but I was to no avail. I slowly placed the small flowers back into the box, and put all of my flowers on the coffee table in the living room. I then changed into something more suitable, curled my hair and put on some light make up, before looking for Harry. I looked in every room, and even shouted his name a couple of times, but I just couldn’t find him. I gave up and put the kettle on. As I opened the fridge to get the milk out, I found an envelope, stuck on the milk carton. I opened it and pulled out the paper inside it:

“Sweetest of the flowers a-blooming
In the fragrant vernal days
Is the Lily of the Valley
With its soft, retiring ways.

Well, you chose this humble blossom
As the nurse's emblem flower,
Who grows more like her ideal
Every day and every hour.

Like the Lily of the Valley
In her honesty and worth,
Ah, she blooms in truth and virtue
In the quiet nooks of earth.

Tho' she stands erect in honor
When the heart of mankind bleeds,
Still she hides her own deserving
In the beauty of her deeds.

In the silence of the darkness
Where no eye may see and know,
There her footsteps shod with mercy,
And fleet kindness come and go.”
For a new beginning.
X

I blushed, and welled up. I had never cried over something this soppy, but as it was personal I had to hold back the tears. The doorbell stopped me reading the note for the fourth or fifth time, hoping it was Harry at the door.
“Delivery for miss Broad,” a delivery man said into the intercom, Quite disappointed I trudged down the stairs to street level, like a toddler would if it had just been told that it couldn’t have any more sweets. I opened the door to a mammoth bunch of flowers with legs.
“Can you just sign here please miss,” the man cheerily said while handing me a small device. “Someone must be trying to get into your good books,” he commented.
“He was in my good books ages ago,” I smiled as the man handed me the box of flowers and left. I ran back upstairs and put the box on the breakfast bar, discarding my cup of tea. I shook my head looking at the box; no flowers matched, they were all different but looked beautiful together. It was made up of all of the flowers from my treasure hunt: Daisies, orchids, tulips, sunflowers, jasmine and lily of the valley. How can one man be so amazing and thoughtful? And he was all mine. I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist, and a kiss planted on my neck. I span round on the stool and threw my arms around him, burying my head in the crook of his neck. I think silence was best, as if I tried to speak, just sobs would have come out.
“You forgot something,” Harry softly whispered. I let go of him, as he handed me another envelope, “can you read it out loud, I’m not sure of how it sounds.” I opened it, excited to see what he had written inside. Like all the other notes, it was handwritten. I took a deep breath and began to read:

“We feel our hands are tied almost as tightly as our tongues
Seeing the days enter and exit and how far we have come
The things we choose to work through with a word or touch on cue
As we plant flowers with the simple things we say or do
The roses bud each time you say hello
The vines of the hibiscus asking me to never go
Lilies that bloom before my eyes with each step we take
The orchids that make it known that the hold on our hands won't break
And though both our tongues are useless at this point in time
I write to you this piece of verse deep within my mind
To show that instead of words, flowers are what you merit
Their loveliness and lustre the thing that you inherit
And I will never let go as long as you choose to do the same
And so my grip on your grows tighter and is the only thing that'll change”

Tears dripped from my cheeks, and they flowed like a river down my face.
“Is it OK?” he asked, almost scared.
“it’s perfect,” I whispered, grazing my lips against his. He smiled, and moved his lips against mine, in the gentlest way he could.
“But just waking up to you would’ve done.”

We both sat, curled up on the sofa a few hours later, flicking through the channels, wrapped up in each other.
“What was with the poetry?” I quietly asked as we watched a polar bear trek it’s was across a frozen lake.
“Well I had to find something to do while you weren’t talking to me.” He joked.
“But why all the different flowers?”
“Well I know you love daisies, and I know only your favourite things can get you out of bed, including me.”
“But most of the time you just get me into bed,” I winked
“Do you want me to tell you the story or not?” he laughed. I just nodded, staring at him, waiting for the next story. “I know you want to go to China, so I brought some of the orient to you.” I rested my head on his shoulder, listening to the story. “While I was bored hiding out here while you were at work, I found some sketchbooks full of drawings of tulips.”
“You saw those!”
“They were beautiful, you shouldn’t be ashamed.” I smiled and leaned against him again. “The sunflowers were because I know how much you love summer. The Jasmine was because your perfume smells of jasmine. And the lilies are a tradition.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well in every bouquet in my family there has been lily of the valley.” I nodded, settling back down to watch the TV.
“I have to ask you something.” I nodded, still watching the mother polar bear and her little baby polar bears. “My family want to meet you.”