He loves me, he loves me not, loves me, loves me not...
The flutter of butter yellow flower petals, silent in all their actions, even when they spun, spun, spun to the ground. One by one, each oval shaped, yellow, silken petal left to join the earth, still as innocent, still as beautiful.
Loves me, loves me not...
The first time she'd done this? Perhaps she was five, or was it seven? It didn't matter, in a time, place she couldn't remember. She did remember voices, soft, sweet whispers about her. "Oh, such a beautiful child!", or, "Isn't she just adorable?" Oh, she remembered well their voices, but not most of all. No, her clearest memory was the field; so large, and like heaven to her young mind. On that lush green carpet sat patches of assorted colours, yellow, purple, blue, white, even orange. Such a plethora of colours that it nearly boggled her mind, filling her heart with such content.
Loves me, loves me not...
She could recall - of what little she could of her childhood - spending every morning and every evening in that field. She often made bouquets of simple colours, and so beautiful too, with their heavenly radiance. She would give them to her mother, who would set them around the house in various sized jars and vases, to display her daughter's love for flowers.
Loves me, loves me not...
She did, as well, remember the day her father had left. It hadn't been on purpose, no, he had been dragged away for some military duty. That was when she had began this game; a little pastime to keep her childish mind off of the fact that her father wasn't home, couldn't be there with her to enjoy the summer days. It helped pass the time, much like now.
Loves me... loves me not...
The last of her flower petals fluttered to the ground, to join the tiny pile of others that had fallen before it. And when it stopped, she sat in silence for a moment, twirling the the petal-free stalk between her fingers. It was smooth beneath her touch, somehow unsual compared to the fuzzy feeling she'd noticed of some of her other flowers. The last petal... had been a love me not, the one thing she feared, the one thing that confirmed her worry. Her eyes watered a bit as she clenched her teeth, holding back her sorrow. But these things happened, it was just how life worked.
We gain, we lose, but everything eventually goes back to which it came...
The first tear slipped down her cheek, slow and warm, dripping from her face to stain the pink fabric of her summer dress. She bit her lip, trying her best to hold back another, and failed, as that one too fell from her eyes to join the one that stained her dress. Another followed, and soon, she was crying, grieving, her hands flying up to her face to cover it. The flower stem slid from her grasp, landing gently, and without a sound amongst its petals. Oh, no, it wasn't a matter of love, it never had been. She knew, that to some level, even if they weren't in love, that their bond was strong. How long had they known each other? Too long, much too long... No, it had never been a matter of love...
But this time... She knew, this time, that he was not coming back.