The Refined Details

It was my roommate's 1 year anniversary with her boyfriend, so she's gone off with him for the weekend. On that day, she had received college mail for the first time. She thought, "I never get mail! I wonder what this is!" When she came back in the room, she had in her hand a very large box. Inside was a vase and beautiful flowers. They were White Lilies and Red Tulips. The card read "I can't believe it's already been 365 days with you already. I can't wait for the future to come" Love Always, -From Your Map. As my heart tightened, I peered up at her wall. My brain thickened as I made the connection. "Life is a journey" the sticker quote read, "and only you hold the Map." Suddenly, my roommate became a mystery. She wasn't just a beautiful and smart girl who knew how to dance and had a boyfriend. Their love came to life right before my face. My face turned warm. She held him on her walls and he held her in his heart. With white lilies and red tulips. It's midnight. Just turned Sunday. She will be back for finals. As for me, I have been watching those flowers like they were a miracle. I watched their tightness in the mornings and the elegant freewill they managed in the evenings. They looked ready to eat me, almost. Their insides, bright and colorful, seemed eager for the life that the two lovers share. The hydrated Anthers, wet with liquid and love, stared at me, sharing their tenderness with hard my eyes. They looked as pure and wet as the innocent love they fell in between.

But, I knew nothing about flowers. I knew names, but it ended there. I could never imagine any man bring me flowers. No one ever had, and such romantic details don't rush in the mind of a single, insecure woman. Flowers. My roommate's flowers left thoughts in my head. Rushes of images rushed through my mind. Of me smelling flowers. Of a handsome man affectionately peering down at me as I did. Me announcing my favorite kind. "Tulips," my roommate had said. "I love tulips." 

 So I thought, maybe. Just maybe, if I become complex and detailed, and developed a favorite flower, someday I'd have someone to give them to me. No one will buy me flowers if I don't know them. I looked it up. I looked up the kind of love, the kind of refined detail that comes with love, that I wanted. And I came up with Quill Chrysanthemums. The sense of complexity my tongue experiences as I make out those syllables, the way the inner petals suffocate each other, like they are working together to harbor a deep secret. I love that, as you work outwards, its layers loosen, as if hopeful that perhaps the outer world is not as bad as it may seem. Chrysanthemums. The eeriness to its entire image were most gravitating. It's a scary flower, and I'm a scary person. And I have secrets that I'm not ready to share yet. I can't be a tulip. I don't have thin, wet, dark anthers. I don't have, thick, loose, compassionate petals that will caress and entertain. I'm emotionally thin and sharp. Or at least I think I am because I don't think I have a choice. Not yet. I want Quill Chrysanthemums. They will quill me, quill my secrets. Maybe someone can quill and protect me like those sharp petals. Maybe someone will find me unforgettable because of my strange taste in flowers. But for now, I will stare at my roommate's beautiful Red Tulips and White Lilies and wait for my Quill Chrysanthemums to come in the mail. Maybe I'll mail them myself. Maybe I'll forget about this bitter poem as I lose myself in the colorful petals and realize that I, too, am beautiful, and deserve to receive flowers - Even though I am not common, and in many ways, I am very ugly.
Mirabal19 Mirabal19
22-25, F
Dec 8, 2013