Romantic Flash Fiction 21:
Every once in a while when we least expect it, love speaks to our hearts in a tender whisper carried by the messenger of a spring afternoon breeze. Without a moment’s hesitation, finches, robins, and rose-breasted grosbeaks burst into song and chant in a chorus of thousands across the daisy-covered green meadows. Mountain peaks in the distance yawn and awaken after a long winter’s rest and when love rolls through, countless spring buds open and smile to the warmth of the day. Here the air is fresh and clean and invigorating. Life never knew such joy. And joy never knew such life.
Lying in the field of daisies in a dazzling white dress, Marigold glanced up at the smiling face of Antonio. Melting again under his gaze, she returned the smile. Since they had first met last month, his soft brown eyes had become small pools of rest and comfort to her often anxious heart. “Please, Antonio,” she implored him, twirling the daisy in her fingers, the one he had picked and given to her. “Tell me the end of the story. Tell me how it ends.”
Antonio sighed contentedly, trailing his fingertips tenderly down her cheek. He paused before answering, glancing at the field around them.
“That’s just it,” he finally said. “It never does.”
Marigold frowned. “That sounds like a cop-out.”
He laughed, revealing his pearly whites. “I mean their love. Their love for each other never ends.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, tossing the daisy aside. A bee buzzed by and birds still sang to the tune of true love, but Marigold’s heart was racing. “The happily-ever-after,” she nodded in understanding, but then she continued. “I know what you mean, Antonio, but it isn’t as simple as all that. There’s always an ending. Always a crash-and-burn, or just a burn out. The happily-ever-after doesn’t exist. Not in my experience, anyway.”
As if from somewhere outside of herself, her mind heard the words, but her heart disagreed. Deep down, all she was looking for was confirmation that what Antonio was saying was true.
Antonio peered deeply into her eyes. “Well, maybe,” he spoke slowly, placing his words carefully, “you need more experience.”
He handed her another daisy, which she took gratefully.
“From someone like you, Antonio?” she asked with bated breath.
“Do you see this tree?” he gestured to the weeping flowering crabapple not a stone’s throw away. “In the winter, she sleeps. Dormant and dreading the cold. But when spring arrives, watch out. It’s as if new life has been breathed into her and she comes alive. Her experience in the spring is much different than in the winter.”
“But winter always comes ‘round again,” she protested with a pout.
And then his smile. His brown eyes. His love. “So does spring, my love. So does spring.”
As he lifted her chin gently, his mouth covered her lips and their tongues met and danced. Her fingers snaked through the hair on the back of his head, drawing him closer, and they kissed as slowly as forever.
And as her heart blossomed like the flowers on the trees, the spring breeze whispered its sweet sound in her ear, the secret she had been longing to hear all her life.