"Upset at first – I know, I shouldn’t be, and soon I will not be – but I am thankful that I am able to spend this night alone.
I come back from Trader Joes and place the two bouquets of flowers that I had bought for myself onto the counter. With my hand on my right hip and the other resting on the countertop, I pause. All my fingers tap on the surface, and I finally reach for the kitchen scissors. My heart sinks to my sternum and then to my stomach as I prepare the flowers in silence. Stems are chopped appropriately into the garbage. A drinking glass is used as a makeshift vase as I as fill it with tap water followed by both bouquets. A total of $8.00 for this blend of red, yellow, purple, and green.
What is it about flowers that draw people to them? They are bound to die. If humans truly cared about the beauty of flora, they would let the flowers grow instead of pulling them from the ground to kill. The moment a flower is detached from its roots, it slowly begins to die.
I still prepare these flowers for the left corner of my desk in my Milwaukee apartment. A hollowness in my chest is still there, and for the first time ever, I wish they had been given to me by someone else. Maybe from the hand of a man who has a sense of romance for me in his soul. Maybe from a man who sees a bouquet of flowers and compares their beauty to mine.
Until then, I will continue to prepare my own flowers top my green countertop. Liberty will consume me as I proceed to give myself these small mementos until I find a person that does. Flowers are all that I ask, even if they are bound to die.
The flowers stare at me as I write this at my desk. I stare back and sip on a beer."
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This is an excerpt that I wrote in my personal journal and recently came across. I appreciate its poetic beauty written in fast handwriting. The date from this excerpt is Sunday, September 25, 2022 at 7:19PM.