Young and passionate.
A fairytale picture. Two youngsters chasing each other along a perfect sandy beach in the shadows of cliffs and in the light of the hanging sun, with never ending love.
“So, where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care”, she said, looking into his eyes with a tender smile. “As long as I get to hold your hand, look at you and do this!” she quickly bent down to reach the water down by her feet and splashed a hand full of water in his face. Then she started to run as fast as she could, barefoot in the sand.
“Oh no, you didn’t just do that! I’m so going to get you for this!” he yelled and started to leap after her.
It didn’t take more than a minute before he caught up with her. He reached out to grab a hold of her arm, slowed her down and pulled her down in the sand.
“No! Now I’ll get sand all over my dress!” she shrieked.
“Ha-ha, I said that I was going to get back at you” he said, rolled her over towards his face and their lips met up in a tenderly kiss.
They lingered by for a while, to watch the sunset. An older couple walked past them and smiled.
“Hey, excuse me!” she called.
“Yes, dear?” the woman replied.
“Could you take a picture of me and my boyfriend?” she said and handed over her camera.

*******************
“Ice-cold and grey, the day of Valentine, and the angels are so frozen. Making their tears falls down like snowflakes.” That was what she muttered in silence while she locked the front door of Lily’s flowers and then she took the first step into the dark February night. The snow got more evident as she walked along the pavement towards the underground station. She held her fists pressed against her coats pockets, an attempt to keep away the cold from biting a hold of them. With about 150 meters left, until she could escape the snowfall and hide beneath the cold surface, she regretted her decision of leaving her knitted scarf and mittens on the hat rack at home. “Still, it looks quite beautiful though”, she thought and watched the course asphalt get covered in gracefully, white snow.
She could hear a crackling sound and a mechanical voice, followed by that, “The train towards Kensington Park arrives in three minutes!” She sat down on one of many wooden benches, brushed off some snow which had stuck to her shoulders and drew a big sigh of relief. “Thank God that it’s only a few hours left of this horrible day” she thought. She spited and hated this day and had soon suffered through it for the fourth time. That she, in December, got a part ownership of a floral shop didn’t do much for the dissolution of her memories. They had more like been brought back to life with help of all the binding of bouquets, silly cards with hearts on them and tons of fake smiles that she was forced to give all the love struck clients who walked into the little shop.
Every holiday where loved ones show their appreciation towards each other in form of the most beautiful flower arrangements, it had been like torture to her. This one had no exception.
Even the most beautiful roses have thorns. Beautiful and beloved things can cause you pain.
”What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. The one who said that must have been ironic,” she thought.
A faint creaking sound of a train that pulled up slowly woke her up from the deep thoughts. The headlights of the locomotive and its sharp light surprised her eyes. She didn’t even care about looking away. Like a deer caught in the headlight, exposed and vulnerable.
Was it because of the meaning of this day or had the past finally caught up with her? She felt that the impossibility to escape her feelings now was complete. A stingy feeling of salty liquid burned behind her eyelids. It wasn’t necessary for her to ask herself what was wrong; she knew the answer all along. The familiar and tempting feeling of drowning the answer with a bottle of red wine, as soon as she got home, grew into her thoughts. “Maybe I should pour myself a bath as well?” an idea and attempt to pull her thoughts in another direction.
The train was now standing still and the doors opened. People switched places and the doors closed and the train was set in motion again. The bitter taste of envy and despair reached her mouth as she saw the number of couples, randomly seated in the wagon. In a couple minutes, a deeply buried hole, placed somewhere behind her ribs, grew back.
A short walk, through a freezing London, she pressed the key into the lock, twisted it and opened the door to the dark apartment. Frozen fingers unzipped her coat, the shoes were kicked off and the keys were placed on the hallway desk. Home at last. Determent to make the best out of the evening that was left; she went into the bathroom, turned on the tap and let the bathtub get filled with water. Only that bottle of wine left and she headed for the dressing room. It was almost sad to see the amount of bottles, a young woman that never invited anyone for dinner. In denial towards herself, she kept them there, behind all the clothes and boxes from a different time. It was pathetic, but it had become a bad habit. While she was in the little store age space, trying to find the light switch, she knocked one of the old shoeboxes that she’d been hiding, mostly from herself. As she didn’t recognize the box at first, she got down on her knees and started to collect all the little paper-like pieces that had fallen out of the box. It wasn’t until it was too late, that she realized which box it was. She realized it when she saw the corner of a photograph. She picked it up and the four year old wall that she’d been building collapsed. The photo portrayed a couple of deeply in love youngsters and with a beautiful sunset behind them.