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Sunday, January 17, 2010

The Flowers Could Not Be Carried Away Print

She packed up the memories. The evidence. The reminders. And she carried them all to the curb. She grabbed her hot cup of coffee and sat by the window, waiting. Waiting to watch the boxes get tossed into the back of the sanitation truck and be carried away.

And as she waited, she thought of all the moments her mind held that she wished she could put in those boxes and watch get carried away. And she thought maybe, if she tried really hard, she could wish those moments into the cardboard boxes before that Monday morning garbage pick up came.

But the flowers. Oh those flowers. The flowers she had saved from the begining. Those pretty little buds that encased so much of the world she thought she had. She had dried them so perfectly. Just right.

It took her years to discover why she wouldn't let the flowers be carried away. It was because those flowers resembled her heart. Dried up, flattened and squeezed between pages of the chapters in her life.

The flowers were all she had left of her heart.

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