A Sandy Storm

I've had this one for well over a year now whoops

I'm noticing some unintentional rhyming in this one.


I can't throw flowers away. Leaves turn crusty and colours go dusty; scents fade but I still can't throw them away. They sit on my dresser and lurk on the window sill and they'll sit there until my mum secretly sneaks them into the trash.

I think she's forgotten that she was the one who'd pluck me jasmines on cold, damp October mornings when I, a then snot-nosed, whimpering four foot tall creature, clung to her legs and begged her to let me stay home.

The tiny white petals would end up on the Kindergarten teacher's desk and when I'd reluctantly return the next day with another flower in my little fist, the dead remains from the previous day would still be sitting there in a wilted state, awaiting their replacement.

Maybe that's the origin then, of this strange affinity for flowers. It's not so much a fondness as it is a calming familiarity.

For a long time they served as 5-petaled, doodled additions to the end of my name in primary school notebooks, a signature of sorts, until I decided somewhere around 5th grade,in my haste, that I was too much of a grown up to continue the tradition.

 a few months old

Now I just watch them die, but they somehow become more beautiful as time goes by.
Kind of like the past.