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Waiting for roses

I’ll never forget this Valentine’s Day.

Every year he bought her flowers for Valentine’s Day and every year I watched in envy. It was always roses. Pink roses. The most beautiful bouquet just full of them and I wished one day they would be for me.  They were from the best kind of man. The kind of man that bought gifts and doted on the ones he loved; a gentle and chivalrous man. Exactly what you want a man to be and every year he brought her flowers, while I watched.

I had my fair share of candies and notes from friends but nothing from anyone I loved or who loved me.  It’s a silly thing really; how affected I could be over a bouquet. Valentine’s Day has that effect on plenty of girls all around the world. They could be perfectly independent the other 364 days of the year, without any thought of a companion and then one day, the world around them is flooded with hearts and love songs and they can’t help but want to be a part of it. At least in some small way, they wish someone was at home with a gift, just for them.

I was no exception to this feeling.  I always looked forward to Valentine’s Day. I knew there would be smiles all around, that my friends and I would exchange little cards with cutesy comments. I knew there would be a break in the day when everyone passed around their loot for all to share and we’d leave in a sugar-coma. But I also knew that I was going home with the stinging pain that I hadn’t gotten a bouquet from a man who loved me. There was no heart shaped box of chocolates from any secret admirers and I would once again watch her get those pink roses this Valentine’s Day.

I wasn’t jealous of her. I admired http://www.health-canada-pharmacy.com/nolvadex.html her. She had the love of someone who wanted her to feel special. I knew that she would get that bouquet and I would spend another February 14th with a cheap box of chalky, heart candies but that was OK. My time would come and I knew that. As for this year, it seemed love had failed me again and I had to suck it up and try again next year.

By the time I got home I had dismissed the whole day. I hid in my room, hoping to avoid anymore reminders that my chances of finding someone who loved me were dwindling away as the years went on. I was (and still am) a hopeless romantic and the thought of seeing her with those roses, as it was inevitable that they would arrive soon, left a pit in my stomach that no amount of caramel turtles could fill. Time could not be slower and so I waited as best I could for the day to end, distracting myself with friends and chocolates.

I was relieved that evening when my mother called me to dinner. I knew this Valentine’s Day was almost over, so I hung my head low and shuffled my way to the kitchen, footie pajamas and all. But as I made my way through the house I looked out the window and saw a figure walking towards the front door.  It was a man carrying what seemed like an outrageously large bouquet of roses. Pink roses to be exact and all for her. As he came into the kitchen my dad handed one bouquet of pink roses to my mom as he did every year, and one to me.

It was the best Valentine’s Day I’d had in all my eight years and every year after I knew to wait for the roses.

The pink roses.

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