Lonely Bloom

After he got the news, his arms went limp and the rose fell to the floor. He stood there, staring at it for a few moments. Unable to move or even think. Finally, he unfolded the paper and began reading again the poem he had composed for her.

"Though we're apart and my life is a desert, love can still bloom in the driest of places. Like a rose that waters itself with the tears of missing you."

He stopped short, unable to finish. Then stooping down, he picked up the flower, and put it under his nose, allowing its fragrance to linger there. As he stood up and inhaled deeply, he recalled the place where they had first met.

It was at a little sidewalk café, in Paris, where he often went to work on his journal. He was sitting alone, she with friends. He was jotting down some random observations about the music and the cuisine when she came up softly. She cleared her throat a little, causing him to gaze up and stare at her in stunned silence.

She stood there like a lovely European dream. Her long, flowing, blond hair was soft-lifted by the breeze, playing all around her head in delicate little tangles. Her deep blue, sea green eyes regarded him with surprised interest, as her smooth skin shimmered in the hot Paris sun like rose-colored pearl. For a few moments, he was unable to speak.

Finally, he slipped back into this new reality where anything was possible as long as she was a part of it.

"Wha-What may I do for you?" He said, barely able to control his emotions.

She went to speak, and her soft voice sounded cool, clear, and musical. Like the whisper of magic fairy chimes, tinkling softly in an open doorway on a pleasant spring day.

"May I have this chair?" She asked, coming up close and placing both her arms around it as if she could not bear to be parted from it. "You see, a friend of mine has just arrived, and she has no place to sit."

Then she stepped aside and allowed him to peer behind her, where he saw two attractive ladies sitting at a table. While a third one stood close by, gazing his way with a hopeful expression.

He could refuse her nothing. "Yes, you may have it most certainly. Just as long as you promise to come and sit with me after your friends leave."

She tilted her head a little to one side, gazed at him with eyes wet and glistening, then she made a sigh that he would never forget. Seeming to laugh and cry in the same breath.

"Oh, I cannot, for we are all leaving together, you see. Ah well, I shall just find one somewhere else I suppose." Then she went to turn away when he stopped her.

"Wait! I shall not hear of such a thing!" He proclaimed indignantly. "You shall surely take that chair for your friend. It is my gift to you. Enjoy."

Then she giggled and clapped her hands together gleefully like a young schoolgirl. "Oh goody! Thank you so much kind, sir. You truly are an angel."

"No Madam, you are the angel. I am but a wandering soul, waiting for the salvation only your sweet love can provide."

She looked him directly in the eyes and mouthed the words thank you. As she slid her tongue out seductively and let it touch the front of her lips. Then she smiled, waved a little, and after lifting up the chair, she set it down for her friend. Then they both sat down together, ordered some drinks and all of them started talking.

He tried to continue working on his journal. But each time he did, he would hear her laughter rise above that of the others, and it left his soul intoxicated. Or he would hear her talking and her voice became like a siren song. Seeming to sound higher, clearer, and more beautiful than all the rest. It almost caused him to lose control of his emotions. So that in a second or two he felt as if he might rise up and declare his love for her. Regardless of who was around or what happened afterwards.

Suddenly, he shot a quick glance here and there to see if anyone else had become aware of his growing infatuation with her. No one had. Then, he dropped his pen on the table, closed the journal, sat back in his chair, and lit up a cigarette. Resigning himself to defeat.

Several minutes later he put the cigarette out and began collecting up his journal, some notes, and other miscellaneous things he had brought with him. He placed everything within a small leather carrying case. Determined to come back in a day or two when hopefully, there would be no more distractions.

Then, just as he stood up to leave, her perfume instantly reached out, caught hold of him, and enfolded his senses within a cloud of bliss. He stood there helplessly with his eyes closed, seeming to breathe in a mystical flower of paradise right after the world was new-created.

He knew he couldn't leave like this, so he sat down again and quickly wrote a few lines about her. Then he casually dropped the paper in front of her as he passed. She opened it there and read quietly to herself.

"I am intrigued by the perfume you are wearing. I remember smelling that same fragrance before. It was at the Musée du Louvre. I was admiring that painting, "The Birth of Venus" by Botticelli. You were still lingering in the air, as I arrived.

I had just missed you. I have not been able to forget you since.

You came down from the painting, and into my life. I long to inhale you more deeply. Here is my number, can we meet?"

She called later that night, and they met the very next morning. In the same café, at the same table. From that moment on, his heart belonged to her.

On their first day sightseeing together, they walked under the Arc de Triomphe du Carousel where he kissed her and declared his love. In that moment he told her later, he had outdone Napoleon himself and taken possession of Europe's greatest treasure.

Afterwards, while strolling through the Jardin des Tuileries, they held hands as they admired the paintings, the statues and immersed themselves in the garden's breath-taking beauty. It was there he found a flower unlike the others and named it after her.

"La Fleur d'Elise."

Later, they walked the Champs-Élysées and stopped along the way to browse the luxury shops, cafés and cinemas.

As evening approached, they visited the Eiffel Tower and the Grands Boulevard area in the 9th Arrondisement, where they enjoyed some of the Parisian nightlife. Then they went back to their little café and had dinner.

Afterwards, they ordered a bottle of wine and sat there discussing music, art, poetry and theater. Towards the end of the night, they kissed once more and exchanged love vows, both of them swearing never to think of anyone else while they were apart.

Theirs was a sweet, simple relationship in which they constantly discovered new things about each other to cherish. He told her that he loved the way she tilted her head to one side ever so slightly while speaking. She said that she enjoyed the gleam of adoration in his eyes whenever he spoke to her. They thought it would never end.

But, that was more than a month ago, and a lot had changed since then. He mistook a friend for her lover and grew extremely jealous. Demanded to know who he was and why she was spending time with him. Angry words were exchanged and accusations made that she could not forgive. He had become unreasonable in his suspicions, so she broke it off.

Now she was gone. Had returned to London, her neighbor told him, barely an hour ago. He had just missed again her it seems. Yet her perfume was hanging heavy in the air as always. Then, the neighbor handed him a note from her.

He opened it up and read the final words which she had left for him.

"You sweet, silly man. You will find me...everywhere. Fondly, your Elise."

He nodded his head sadly and wiped away a few tears. Afterwards, he gave the rose to the neighbor, then placed the poem and the note in his pocket. Dejected but accepting, he walked out the front door and back down the street to the little café at which they had first met. Where he knew her fragrance would still be waiting to haunt him forever.

With the memory of a love that would never grow.