She poured lukewarm water into the spherical vase filled with yellow roses. She could see him watching her out of the corner of her eye. He watched her with the same admiration he had for the last fifty years. She finished filling the vase and slid her chair closer to his bedside. When children, grandchildren and cousins visited, they could only see how his brown skin wrinkled and the wires connecting his frail body to medicine and monitors. When they held his hand, they only felt the dry cracks in his palms. But when she looked at him, she saw the fresh seeds of sunflowers and yellow roses that they planted after buying their first home. She thought about how the beaming sun reflected the light from his heart onto her skin. When she touched his hands, she remembered how many times she had to stitch them up because he was always clumsy with garden shears. When she held him for the last time, she thought about how he held their first baby girl in his arms with genuine care she’d only seen him give to everyone he held close to his sun-kissed heart.
cooked up by vision+voice
