Bougainvillea

The breeze brushed past the trees, past the translucent curtains, and through my hotel room’s open window.

Sliding the glass door to the veranda, I took a deep breath of the salty air and walked to the ledge. The water looked inviting, and there were few people out at this hour. Perhaps a quick dip wouldn’t hurt?

I shook my head. I couldn’t do that. I was here for business, and I didn’t have time to gallivant around. It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway; it might trigger some unpleasant memories.

Sighing, I sat on one of the couches on the veranda, and stared at the pink bougainvillea overhead. Its bright leaves swayed gently with the wind.

“They look just like they do back home,” came a quiet whisper in my ear. “Strong pinks among the green, creeping vines that claimed as much space as they could, and thorns to protect itself.”

I quickly turned, thinking I saw the wisp of familiar curves by my side. But there was nobody there, only a tasteful arrangement of decor and unoccupied couches.

Pursing my lips, I quickly got up and hurried inside before another bittersweet memory could catch up to me. I slid the glass door with a bang and closed the curtains.

–

For Salma.

–
Image source: deviantart.com/soulis0/art/Soulis-Impression-Bougainvillea-I-393162239
First written January 23, 2018.
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