I haven't picked them in a long time. For too long, they haven't caught my attention, among so many colors and scents. It's as if they knew that the end of March would come, when I would pick them up and count them, one by one, as I never do, with the hundreds of flowers from which I make bouquets that delight. And that move. Yesterday it was mandatory that none of them be plus or minus. It seems like it would matter. Maybe?

On a seemingly ordinary Sunday, when the rain started to fall, cold and unfriendly, just as you were getting ready to leave, I felt the cold and dampness to the core.
"Passerby, I, who am here, was like you. You, who are there, will be like me." Strangely, I didn't get cold chills, reading the words on the old tombstone! I realized that it's true! They were children, they played pranks, they were afraid of a stick, a shadow, a bad dream, they laughed and cried, they loved, they created, they had emotions, they moved millions of people, through poems, through films, through painting, they saved lives, they gave life, they are pages of history or icons. They were. Or they still are.
I wasn't afraid to walk through the cemetery alone. I never am. I just missed them. Those who are no longer there, and of whom I can't seem to think enough. We don't have time for the living, let alone for those who are gone.
I waited for today to come so I could write about yesterday. I waited for the sun and the light, maybe my thoughts will be different. They are not. Because no rain, no wind, no other summer or autumn or winter, will change the thoughts about a MAN, when he leaves. But there is something that always brings you closer, with an invisible thread, to the one who has reached beyond the clouds.
It hurts me so much, my dear! It hurts me that I waited for this horrible Sunday to bring you an armful of white tulips! Why didn't I do it sooner?! Did I tell you how much I like the way you write, other than by giving it a like (at anyone's fingertips)?! Oh, for that I will always apologize, my dear!
You will stay two steps away from me, at least for a while, until we get a little closer or…who knows? Until then, however, whenever I pass by you, near the intersection, I will wave to you, paying attention to the direction of travel and the policemen who are always there. I wish you could see them, they are the subject of an article. Most of the time they have no idea what they are doing! They and all those who make their living in the area (a little differently than you), beyond the fence that still protects you from the noise, the dust and the hustle and bustle of the street.
I'll stop by your place, Simona Catrina-Roman! I know, many people say this. Often, in a human life. After, it's harder. What's the point of life without likes, shares and tags?
Don't worry, I won't cry! I'll even come with the girls and we'll tell stories. They pray from the bottom of their hearts for the souls, but they also laugh at the cemetery. They enjoy the flowers there, the bees, the sparrows, sometimes the butterflies, like children. If you hear a "song for the snail", we are there. They get sad when they see on the crosses, the young ages of people who have become Angels, but we also tell stories about this. About this and about everyone around you, about the great... People who were and who they are starting to learn about at school or find out about at home. Yes, Iorga is close too. Just like Alice and hers, they remain close to us, as we understand. Physically, not virtually. And we will always talk about you! And I'll give alms for you too. The white tulips and Moldovan martyrs, because you still haven't had time to taste mine, when you felt like it!
Fly smoothly, Simona!