Fresh Flowers

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We give someone fresh flowers because we love them. Why is it that flowers mean love? Because they are disposable? Because they’re beautiful? If they are not wet, they wilt in your hands. But somehow flowers feel like love. When a man or a woman hands you flowers, they hold you in their fingers.

When I came back from my book tour, exhausted, like the air had been sucked out of me, I walked into the house and Carmen and Jackie had flowers for me. Those flowers spoke to me in their own language of love and mercy for the defeated and wet wonder for the winners.

When it was my birthday, Carmen and Jackie gave me enough rose bushes to line the walkway to my house so that every time I walked to my house I could see the yard blooming and think of love.

Flowers mean this. You are loved, baby, you are really and truly loved. Someone was willing to bring you something utterly silly and delicate, petals that just fall off into the hands, leaving the scent of loveliness. When a man gives you flowers, it’s because he likes your petals and because he wants you to know that your skin is what he thinks of when he thinks of you at night, your warm skin.

Flowers are elegant love, leafed love, petal dreams. In stories, flower are desire, flowers are cliché, but in real life, flowers reach into your heart. In movies when a woman throws flowers in the trash, I reach into the trash and pull them out, these flowers are for me. I claim these flowers.

Published in: on January 3, 2015 at 8:23 pm  Leave a Comment  

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