The Promise of an Empty Box

An empty box and a bouquet of tulips greeted me when I got in from walking the dog yesterday evening. 

John stood there, a smile on his face. He knows my favorite flowers are tulips, and these vibrant purplish pink ones just looked like the color of love. I read the card stuffed inside the box and sniffed back a few tears. 

I knew the box itself had significance, but unlike the 27 tiny boxes I stuffed with memories on paper, the purpose wasn't obvious to me. In my defense, it was stressful day, and my brain was not functioning at full capacity. 

(Disclaimer: I know lots of women would be irate at receiving an empty box for an anniversary gift, but we vowed to go gift-free this year.)

I must have looked at him quizzically. "It's empty so we can fill it with 27 more years of memories." 

This. This is why I love this guy with all of my heart. After all this time, he still wants to make memories with me. 

As I ran my hand over the box this morning, I felt the promise it contains. And I smiled. 


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