Red Dahlias

It was a lonely winter night, cold and wet, with the wind blowing strong. The dry autumn leaves were plucked by the wind and strewn on the street. The wooden bench by the pavement was old and moist, with pearls of water dripping down from it. The street was deserted and silent; even the night owls had left in search of happier homes. He stood in silence, taking in, the solitude and melancholy surrounding the place he grew up in. Scenes of life, colorful and bright, at the very same street replayed in his mind. Nostalgia took over his mind, and flooded his thoughts. He saw her there, sitting on the bench, dressed in a floral-patterned summer dress and wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Her eyes were like diamonds on her face, brightened by the sun's rays. She turned to look at him and smiled. Her smile made him feel weightless, excited and happy, all at the same time. He lived a life with her as a dream. Dreams gave him those small pleasures of being with her. But he knew the reality; she could never belong to him, she was beyond his grasp. The brush of the cold wind brought him back to the present day, to the empty bench. He walked forward, placed the red dahlias and the Merlot on the bench. He turned and walked away in silence, completing the ritual he had been doing every week for the most part of his youth.