I would ask you to help me build my very own balcony garden. We would go to the garden center and we would pick out plants together. You would share your knowledge with me about outdoor plants. Which ones are the best for a south facing balcony. Which ones attract butterflies and which ones need a lot of water. We'd push around our cart, and gradually fill it up with plants until we reached the herbs and vegetables section.
We'd stop and gaze at the wall of seeds. I'd be so excited. I'd smile up at you and link our arms together, because I could. I would watch you with admiration while you would scan the packets of seeds for the best ones. I'd offer my suggestion of organic. You would agree with me. Then I would spot something utterly essential to any garden.
"We must have these," I would say, pointing with the enthusiasm of a small child at the sunflower seeds.
You would chuckle and oblige. We would then load everything up into my car and I would drive us to my home. Because you are still here you would have witnessed me get my driving license. You would have been there with me when I bought my very first car. Electric obviously.
I would've offered to take you some place that you normally wouldn't go to, because it would be too far to travel by train.
You would've tousled my hair, like you always did when you wanted to express affection. Like you promised you would keep doing, until I was old. I would smile, not realising how much I would miss it, if you were no longer here.
Because you are, still here.
Neither knowing what life would even be like if you weren't. Blissfully ignorant. We would start on my balcony garden. Your knowledge of caring for plants and flowers would inspire and impress me. We'd get our hands and nails black with dirt. Your hair, now white as snow, would marvelously wave ever so gently in the wind. I would call you Gandalf the Grey, until I promoted you to Gandalf the White, because you loved that book.
Afterwards we'd sit and drink tea, because I don't like coffee and you don't mind tea. I would have baked something scrumptious and you would have savoured it. We would continue chatting away the hours. I would tell you that I had the best day ever. I'd reminisce about our old garden from childhood. With the pear tree, the strawberry plants and the pond. I would grill you on the care of orchids, knowing they're your favourite. I'd ask you a million questions more and tell you how much I love you.
You would wonder where all this is coming from and I would know.
I would ignore the truth and wrap my arms around you firmly.
"Just don't go anywhere."
You would smile and hold me close.
"I won't," you would say.
And I'd believe you.
If you were still here...
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