Flowers without Vase

The Sepia creased wrapper was left torn on the floor of her bedroom. She was measuring her pulses when the ringing clock flustered a gasp out of her breath, which was already stolen. The wood was glistening, the shadow enlarging. with every second her thoughts were left out of time. 

There was no warning through the windows. Just the haze of the morning lightening the paper, darkening her inside. But she knew there was a part of covering she had forgiven regarding the possibility. She’d left as a witness of her pain that she can pull with herself on the days left over for drawing blunders because the part untorn read a name. 

A name she didn’t need to see because she can feel it. A name who owned money for the benefaction she didn’t know where to set down.

The bed was left affected when she pulls herself off. She betrayed the time-lapse for a moment and quickly decides to throw the packaging away, as far as she could throw, as deep as she could hide it to not see it again. For the souvenir, she caressed the name and thereby noticed for the first time the quotes written beneath. She distrained the paper. It says, 

“The things disintegrated with time

are more valuable when they are broken.”

“How can it be?” she shrieks between the silence. Her voices gave the essence of hatred she had been in the whole night, but she didn’t notice. Instantly, she had no answers in return, she slammed her eyes shut. But it did was more when she saw her tears raining on the written texts.

She sunk on the floor, fisting her hands. She couldn’t stop herself. The emotions were a lot cascading in every way credible. Her eyes were locked on her hand, blurred to see the expressions she imagined with a face. She turned the wrapper back.

“Flowers to my Lily,” it said. She sniffed and wiped her cheek to confirm it again. Guilt streamed on her face. Instantly, She left the shealth flying down like a feather and rushed out of her room. Her chest was levering her down, yet she made it to the end table, loaded with a huge bouquet of peonies. Her favorite.

Last night, the knot of flowers was surrendered with her name on it, handed to her by a guy in Prussian blue uniform with a ‘Deliverer’ written on his back with a number which reminded her regression of not picking up the phone yesterday. That was the time when her anger was peaking to its hard limits.

She wanted to prove to herself that someone can deserve such hostility. Her destination was certain but it was the way wrong, that held her onto making him believe they were running with no assistance. The call didn’t come back. In her defense, she just needed the last quiver. One last call to lessen the entropy.

She took the bouquet in her hands, touching least. Terrified that her soreness would somehow kill them. The vase was sitting next to it, but she hurtled toward her door and shot out.

The wild winds touched her lips and her senses quickened the scrutiny of the salt and irritation on her face. She couldn’t throw the flowers, they didn’t belong in the garbage pail, and neither in the destination to be seen every time. The flowers hold every shade of the relationship.

The moment of confections, the nanoseconds when his smile was magnificent, when she made a mistake only for him to fix it when his breath was the freshest air around. The times of hesitation when the mistakes weren’t assigned to anyone, and the decisions disappointing her because they never took them.

She knew the time when ingenuous of her endeavor she was trying to stop them from being. But finally, she knew that his silence was to tell her that he’s noticing that. That she didn’t know what that was. She didn’t care. Well, You take everything you want, she remembered his words, came out with pride in his tone, but now she doubts her abilities.

She doubts that she was the one to devour this time.

Standing outside, she imagined the time he was opening the gate, groaning with his rusted iron. He was walking towards her yet he ignores her and knocked on the door instead. He passed through her and the door opened like she was already there twiddling her thumb.

She welcomed him with a huge smile and he hugged her. But she didn’t feel his body. It was the same checked shirt, same brown messed hair, already blushing lips and transparent blue eyes in which she can see her old. His arms were wrapped around her but his warmth was swept away by the wind.

When she concentrated hard, he was finally nowhere. She knew it but it broke a part of her. The grass of her lawn was not green anymore as she looked down. And her house wasn’t decorated anymore as she saw in his eyes. Colors were fading away as long as her vision was possible.

The peonies were still in her hand. There was a desolation in her nerves that the wind was warning her to hold them tight or she would lose them too. That’s what I want, she lied to her subconscious, and marched out of her garden, out of her house.

 Her feet halted on the edge of the road, and she threw the gift far. The plastic band holding them together showed a white flag. The flowers were left scattered on the road like fifty candles in the darkness. It took away her tears and hope grew more inspiring.

It was the only place he should be. Not inside her house expressing neither he could be hidden in a box, she would never open. She turned back to her house convincing herself because at the time she wasn’t left out of her insensitivities. And that was the proposal for the rest of the day.

She sat on pause on her window, from where the flowers were visible but it never happened. She didn’t see his shadow, he didn’t come to her street like she wanted him to. Strangers stared at the withers turning into dust as the day went, but no stranger was him.

The sun hid in disappointment. It wasn’t the day for beams and sparkle to touch Lily. Her only friend appeared to be the dark knight telling her that it’s the end.

THE END