There is decaying grandeur at my desk in the form of an outrageously large floral arrangement, courtesy of my mother.
The once lovely bells of Ireland, Calla lilies and long fingers of orchids are drooping, yellowing, and drying out their once-sturdy green.
The water grows murkier by the minute, the stems fray out in smushy bits, and they permeate that smell, you know the one, that smell of mildewed shower which flowers expel as they die.
The leaves of formerly supple buds curl brownish on their edges because on the weekend, while no one was here to tend to them or prevent it, they crossed the line of beautiful vibrancy. Instead they stranglehold their sadsack grip on a memory that is no longer worth recalling.
*Sigh*
The once lovely bells of Ireland, Calla lilies and long fingers of orchids are drooping, yellowing, and drying out their once-sturdy green.
The water grows murkier by the minute, the stems fray out in smushy bits, and they permeate that smell, you know the one, that smell of mildewed shower which flowers expel as they die.
The leaves of formerly supple buds curl brownish on their edges because on the weekend, while no one was here to tend to them or prevent it, they crossed the line of beautiful vibrancy. Instead they stranglehold their sadsack grip on a memory that is no longer worth recalling.
*Sigh*
Metaphor? Maybe…
3 comments:
Pretty. And sad.
Yeah, you should throw those away outside, because it will stink up your work space if you choose to just dump it in the trash. Working in a flower shop, I know these things. LOL...
This is some excellent writing. I know exactly how that feels...
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