Authors Note: Hey guys! I hope you'll enjoy this story. It's honestly kind of messy and unorganized, giving I wrote it in like 2 hours, but yea! I just got diagnosed with covid, so life sucks but enough of the sob story. So, without further-ado:
He gave me flowers.
Purple orchids, to be specific.
They were my favorite.
They reminded me of my mother, who died a year ago.
Purple orchids represented admiration.
I had that for him.
Did he have admiration for me?
If he did, I don't think he knew it.
Soon, those beautiful orchids will be torn up.
Ripped, thrown on the floor like a piece of trash.
He should have gotten me white orchids.
White orchids represent regret and sincerity.
Did he regret?
I doubt it.
He enjoyed it too much to regret it further on.
Or maybe red orchids.
To at least trick me into thinking you loved me.
Red orchids represent romance, and passion.
Did he love me?
One side of me says, yes. Yes he did.
But the other side tells me that if he loved me, why did he do it?
Why did he make me feel disgusting, then?
Aren't our loved ones supposed to make us confident?
We were happy once.
We had met in Greece, I was on a business trip while he was there to his sheer amusement.
On our first date, he presented me with yellow orchids.
Yellow orchids represent friendship, and new beginnings.
Did he want to be friends? Was this a hint that he didn't love me?
I don't know.
It makes me wonder.
This whole situation, it's so confusing.
Was it me?
Was I asking for it?
Is it because of how I dress, or how I act?
When he proposed, he gave me blue orchids.
Blue orchids represent beauty and power.
He said I was the most beautiful flower he had ever seen.
Was he lying?
In March, the month of flowers, he took me to a field of flowers.
They were chrysanthemums.
They weren't orchids.
That's when I knew he had changed.
He didn't know me anymore.
When he knew I didn't like them, he never let me see them again.
When my mother had died, he gave me black orchids.
Fits the occasion, right?
Black orchids represent strength.
Was I strong?
Every month, he gave me a new color.
Every month he gave me reassurance.
To the point where now, I confide in flowers more than people.
Orchids, to be exact.
Red, Orange, Yellow, Pink, Blue, Green, Black, White.
The list goes on.
And every month, I kept one last flower petal, while the others died.
Just like our relationship.
Just like my heart.
My room, once happy and filled with flowers, now bare.
I used to keep the flowers on the wall.
I would tape them and label them.
Instead of a scrapbook, I used a wall.
Never had I thought it would be humiliating.
Before, I thought we would be together forever.
Now, whenever someone comes over, they know.
They give me eyes of pity, eyes of compassion.
What used to be a bright house, is now a dead shed.
What used to be a young, carefree girl is now replaced with a girl who is scared of even setting foot out of her house.
What happened to me?
Why am I letting him do this?
Why, Why, Why?
On January 1st, he gave me orange orchids.
Orange orchids represent pride and boldness.
He wouldn't be proud, now would he?
To see me, his "creation" like this.
I ripped the flowers up.
The last of the petals.
Just like the last of our relationship.
I ripped it up.
And now, they are on the floor.
Colorless and dark.
They used to be pretty and bright.
They used to be together.
But now we are both broken.
Before he left, he gave me a green orchid.
It was a pretty rare flower.
He said I was rare.
Green orchids represent good health, and a long life.
I think that he said that as a goodbye.
And soon, I was pushed out.
I kept the flower.
The green orchid, to be exact.
I kept it in a glass bowl.
Just like in the Beauty and the Beast.
That works perfectly.
I'm the beauty, he's the beast.
In more ways than others.
Last month, I got a Zeuxine rolfiana in the mail.
The hardest flower in the world to find.
Was it from him?
Does he still think of me?
Am I still his flower?
Or was it a prank?
Was someone trying to fool me?
Try to test my feelings?
Maybe, maybe not.
He is probably living his best life.
Not even thinking about me, the girl he met in high-school.
The girl he went on endless journeys with, the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
The girl he barely hesitated to leave without an explanation.
We were laying in the bathtub, one day.
I laid on him, resting my head on his shoulder.
I asked him, why?
He kissed me gently that night.
And left me with a simple explanation.
"Because orchids mean love, and I love you."
He didn't love me then.
On Christmas, I celebrated alone.
Who would I celebrate with anyways?
A dead mother?
A cheating bastard who slightly still cares?
A forgotten father?
I received a bouquet full of orchids that night.
It was like Santa was on my doorstep.
Orchids of all colors.
Yet he chose pink.
Pink orchids represented feminism.
Did he believe in me?
Did he send me this to let me know I can do this?
That I'm a strong independent girl?
I don't know.
I don't know if it was even him who sent it.
I don't know if this might have been his girlfriend, or wife, or jealous hooker.
But it gave me some hope.
It gave me some, slightly unusual confidence.
It's messy, I know.
But it sparked something in me that caused me to smile.
It was the realization that I've moved on.
I've accepted it.
We weren't meant to be.
Yes, he did the wrong thing.
But why am I still living in the past?
Lady Bird Johnson once said, "Where flowers bloom so does hope."
What I learned, is that Ms. Johnson, was absolute right.