Every time he arrived, the man always kissed the flowers in the garden of his home intimately. Suffers to the knee like a respect to his lover, Mira, the sweet woman who has gone forever. He said affectionately, "For you Mira, my flower and my love that will not fade by time." Mira's favorite red boegenvil that still firmly stuck in front of the house twisted by the bayu as if in the fragrant flower there smiled Mira's face to welcome her home. Then greet him, "Boy, I miss you, welcome again at this memorable home." The flower said as if talking intimately to the man. The man smiled.
Though in his smile there is a wound that is so wrenching, "oh Mira, you are just following your heart to the flowers, day and night you never escape from them, greet me just a minute then ....." in front of the front of the house with empty eyes. As if she could not believe her lover's heart, Mira cared more for the flowers in her home garden than with her.
"You're back on your flowers." The man's mouth grinned.
'Noooooo, you go with the hugs of the flowers. Your world is just a flower, your smile is just a flower, your heart is just a flower, your eyes are just flowers, your feet and your hands are just flowers. I'm just a park filler third person as a guard statue. "
The fury of his mind grew higher, the glass in front of him he threw about Mira's picture on the flower garden wall. Instantly fell and crumbled. While the black and white Mira photo with a smile like Bougenvil still seduces her heart.
"Mira, I'm sorry, I do not mean to be rude to you, but my heart feels sour with your act of choosing flowers rather than me as the man who loves you."
The photo lying with the broken glass and frames still left him.
"May you choose flowers but ..." The man did not go on. The man paused with the rhythm of his rocking chair.
"But you do not want me, that man needs the loyalty of a woman, Mira."
The man took another glass and poured the wine in it. She gulped, her body beginning to feel warm.
"Normally you're still cutting off the fruit branches that grow unnecessarily, I see your soft body like a rose dancing gracefully in the garden while I'm just drinking a sip from my favorite wine."
Again the man poured the wine in his glass. His eyes are still empty. The man imagined the graceful body of Mira in the garden with her long hair wrinkled by the wind.
"Mira, just leave your job, it's dark."
His voice sounded like a wind, lost in silence.
"Mira, let's go home, cool, then you'll catch a cold."
Still empty.
"Mira, be careful among the flowers there are also many dangers."
Still silent, only the man's voice was instantaneous.
"Mira, let's eat."
No answer. And the man was getting bored.
"Mira, when did you finish your job?"
Only a slight breeze swept over all the flowers in Mira's garden. The man poured wine on his empty glass. Countless how many glasses of wine he had drunk. His eyes began to red, his face began to bloat, and his lips began to dry.
"Mira, is that you?" his eyes began to blur. Vaguely he saw the shadow of Mira ducking the weeds that grew around her beloved flower.
"Mira ..." she called. Mira did not budge.
"Mira, is that you?" his view increasingly blurred.
"Mira, I'm sorry, I have the heart to hurt you."
"Mira, accompany me here, drink wine together, for all the fatigue too."
"Mira, I'm sorry to have put you to sleep forever."
"Mira, I just want to make love ...." His body staggered and fell. While empty wine bottles fall apart on the table. Mira's flower garden is still quiet. The night wind swept slowly, shaking the flowers that had never been idly danced to the rhythm of the night. Indifferent to the moon that is no longer cheerful. As if recording a night where the grapes have put women to sleep on Mira's behalf forever. The flowers expecting the delicate touch of his hands, wailing with the wild grow with the weeds.
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