It was always something

Author's Note - This is a metaphor - a dark one, but just a metaphor.  If it is of interest, I will add my intent in a later post, but it's fun to hear other interpretations.
It was always something
Every day.

Some bauble,
A magazine,
A flower,
Perhaps a full bouquet.
Her joy was his.
The thought of her smile,
The embrace that would follow,
The anticipation of the giving,
It was always worth the effort.
And so it was
Day again, night again
Always time,
Time for that extra stop.
The extra trinket
That said I love you
When his words did not.
One day,
Nothing went right.
One call too many.
A boss berating.
A target missed.
The train missed too.
The stores were closed.
And the trip downtown,
Such an effort
At that late hour.
Near exhaustion.
And of course,
She would understand.
It was just this once.
He arrived, empty-handed
She was asleep.
He killed her.
And as he squeezed the trigger
The gun at his temple
He smiled.
“It was over anyway.”
And they were gone.

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