68 Ways to Rekindle | Aaron Ramsey

THIRTY - TWO ::

Of course I remember the scent of her old house.

It always smelled like fine wine, aged for twenty three years, made with the freshest bundle of grapes.

I would always bring lavender scented candles, and she would say that she liked the smell of fresh grass more.

So do I.

But I step out on fresh grass all the time, it makes my nose crinkle at the smell of it.

But if she likes it, I like it too.

And now I'm standing alone in a candle shop by Torriano and Leighton; ten minutes away from the Emirates, picking out a fresh grass scented candle off of a shelf.

I'm sure she'll laugh at me if I ever told her I had smelled all of them one by one- even the salesperson here giggled at me a couple of times when I asked her about the names of the candles. Some of these names- outrageous, I say.

Cherry pie? Pineapple paradise? Dimmed lights?

What in the world?

Maybe it's just me and my strange affair with the world.

I'm sure if she was here, candle shopping would be less boring, stupid, and awkward. Perhaps she'd take five, but for me- I took fifty.

I knew that she would needed to see that I've changed.

For me,

For her,

For us.

I've been losing my concentration these days, and it's all been on candles, her, me, us, and this dinner we're having tonight.

I feel as if I no longer play football for me,

But I play as a promise to her.

Perhaps no one would understand what she means to me, and what this promise was- between us.

And perhaps no one needs to know.

But all I know is, I want her back in my arms, rocking chair in sight, our hearts intertwined, our hands in unison- saying two idiotic yet meaningful words meant for no one else to hear, but said out loud to the world-

Starting from this candle called "Forgiveness Roses."

//

two words? what do you think the two words are?

think Aaron is gonna be successful in his operations?

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