The assortment of flowers he bought was always unique. Sometimes it was all red roses, sometimes white carnations and daffodils. When he handed me the bouquet my heart raced, its beauty was captivating. This was a person who valued all things exquisite.
His style of clothing was just as attractive. He preferred the neat casual style every day. Clean t-shirts and jeans. A good pair of sports shoes. His beard was neatly trimmed and a sweet scent always hung to him.
When that day came, nobody believed it was him. A video played and replayed on the TV screen. A lithe figure holding a rifle shooting at the enemy. He wore no bullet proof vest or gear. His bare chest was riddled with bullets.
All the roses fell to the ground smeared with his blood. He was even more handsome in his death. I found myself falling in love with his moment of sacrifice. Falling in love with who he was at that moment when his body became lifeless. I held his head, his warm blood streaming down on my hands. But he was already in a different world and I was stranded behind.