It’s only appropriate that on the day before Vday, I write a melancholy little post about this sudden desire I have to receive flowers. I suppose it’s all the banners flashing everywhere with beautiful bouquets of mixed flowers. And usually I think I’m pretty good with never wanting anything. I like to be surprised and I don’t like to make demands. My entoned “I want!” in Wal-mart was more a silly request for a pretty little stuffed bunny which had me utterly delighted when Carlitos/scizor decided to gift it to me without hesitation. But this… this is more, I suppose.
I guess I’m craving the significance that comes with getting flowers; the sentiment, the emotion, the connection, the spark.
No, I do not wish for roses. I do not like them.
I believe the last time I got a flower it was a rose. A yellow one.
From a friend, 2 Valentine’s ago.
Unless we’re counting these:
From a long distance boyfriend.
Their picture was all I got.
There were flowers for my graduation from high school, a gorgeous basket with a plushie Honey puppy wearing a graduation cap from my family.
There were flowers that fateful Valentine’s day after I broke up with my high school sweetheart… from another boy who had a deeply seated crush on me.
A dozen peach-pink roses.
And I cried for several hours because they were from my friend…
and not my ex-boyfriend.
I often joke about how I’d marry the man who knew to give me tulips…. red and yellow tulips. I would love him forever, I think.
But tulips cannot grow in Puerto Rico.
And neither can ivies.
The tropical heat does not agree with them.
Who could blame them?
So tomorrow I shall have my brave face on as I endure the campus full of flowers and the boys giving them.. and the girls who will receive them.
Then I will endure a spell of time when it seems there are no lovely flowers around at all.
And then I will wonder when my time for flowers will come…