In a book of Love Poems, my Mum bought for my Dad in her 30’s, she had bookmarked and inscribed the poem Flowers by Wendy Cope, saying how it reminded her of him. 

Reaching a similar age, I have been paper cut by this realisation again. Having been bought a second-hand card game in a flurry, instead of a fragrant bunch of joy, by a recent (albiet fleeting) partner. My read-like-a-book-like face must have said it all, as he expressed to me “he almost bought me flowers“. The game still sits unplayed in my living room cabinate.

You almost bought me flowers,
You almost left to leave

You almost held my hand there,
But you caught onto my sleeve

You almost tried to stay here,
Wanished into the cliff

I almost took your name dear
Your outline it persists