True names unknown.
09.13.17 – Soiling
The petals were bending around a weightier bulb in the center, all of it too delicate with pink. On the edges it looked like a painter had run out of color, especially as it approached the stem where white was rushing up to catch those soft folds. They parted unevenly as if they were never truly meant to close and that this open position was now permanent and proposed. The gentle curves ran amongst the other frail walls and there was maze to its structure that would never be traced. Staring at it felt like time had stopped and that it was in the act of fully coming undone but we were only able to witness this small second of that fragmentation.
The flower had been plucked and spun before I could blink; you were bouncing off and through the house with laughter on your lips and wile in your mind. You pulled those love-me-nots apart one at a time and dropped them to the floor as an exquisite trail, but I was hurt to see them evicted. We’d nearly drowned the orphans and here you took them down to tiny pieces to lead me to the romance they were originally meant to imply. This was a graceful note left by a careful partner and I was skimming instead of really reading.
On the marred carpet they lost all the appeal. That pink was just an out of place spot amongst the many stains of our lives. We couldn’t follow the surprising turns its beauty once offered and instead saw this as a bountiful mess. The stem was naked and eerily empty without its full head and you twirled it like a wand in a manner closer to taunting than anything else. This was the remnant of an offering upon the doorstep and I suppose we’d seen it as a prize for different reasons. Tomorrow maybe our roles would reverse and I’d be shredding the red roses and you admiring their hearts.