At the risk of sounding like an idiot, I will here share the following story containing a flower bouquet, an admirer and me on Valentines Day.
I was walking around London, an admirer was courting me supposedly. With just enough money in my pocket to afford a single ticket to town, which is in Zone 1 and I was currently living in Zone 5, I had this desire in my heart to see the Messiah at the Royal Albert Hall, I neither had a ticket nor any money to return.
A no brainer, you may say. Exactly. So I went. I went, trusting the lover of my soul to look out for me. Arriving there I trotted around the venue, hoping for Him to show up. He tends to show up in disguises. This time it was in the form of a lady whose son and husband were unable to attend. After some deliberating she decided to take me instead. For free.
We sat in the finest seats. During the final choral I stood and wept. I knew my admirer had made this possible. Travelling back, the lady took me a way and then gave me her travel card going to Zone 4. Once there, it had also gotten quite late, I was prompted to enter this taxi stand.
You must know that mini cabs in London are not entirely legal, and there is always a small risk involved in using their services. Well, in I went, anyway, still none the richer. The man there offered me to drive me some, not all the way, and, despite the dangers involved I got into the cab.
As soon as I sat down I started to tell him about the Lover of my soul. It must have sparked something in him, as he decided to drive me all the way home. My evening consisted of a miraculous experience, all meticulously planned by my Admirer. The same happened that Valentines day. Exiting the tube after a long and arduous day I was again prompted.
Someone whispered, “take that little alley there instead of your regular route”, and I did. Despite the drizzle I listened to that still small voice. And, going around some inconspicuous corner, I saw it lying there: a gigantic bouquet, outside some back door by the trash. Some one must have left it there. Probably by someone who had received it from someone turning out to not be a lover after all.
So my lover brought me there. I picked up the bouquet and cried. Not visible in the rain, but visible to my admirer. “Wunder geschehen” goes a German saying, “Miracles happen”. True, shit happens, too. But so do miracles. Now I have a husband and some money stretching a bit further than a ticket into town. So, every now and then I try and be someone else’s miracle. Like right now. But as it goes with miracles, they are incomprehensible to those who do witness them, let alone those who do not.
I will leave you in the same mist concerning what I am about to do as you must bee feeling in regards to what I had happen to me those nights in London. If you want to share the magic, though, go be someone else’s miracle today. You never know, you might end up on some blog some day, somewhere.