Lilies. Everywhere I go, I can't seem to shake those darn lilies. They are in the bouquet of the this girl who just won the award. They are in the corsages that I see young teens wearing when they go out to dinner. They are in the vase at my grandmother's house. In the garden. By the side of the road. Everywhere.
It's funny, because people always say that lilies smell like death. This makes sense, I think...lilies tend to be the main flower at funerals. Still, I always thought they smell too vibrant for funerals, too passionate. They smelled like Valerie. She always had lilies, whether she had drawn them on her notebook or kept them strung like christmas lights in her room. In my cliche teenager mind, I liked to picture her in her white dress, her hair swept to the side, a lily tucked behind her ear. I know, cliche.
She's coming home tomorrow, and I have to admit I'm a little nervous. I haven't seen her since she got with that script writer. He's probably surrounding her now with lilies now, saying stupidly poetic things. Ugh.
Here's what I think: we trade the things that we love for the idea of something we might love. We look to the left or right instead of just looking straight ahead. I traded her for some notion of a girl that I could get in the future, something to satisfy what I truly think just cannot be satisfied. Maybe that's what makes us human, the constant want for something. I don't even think at this point that I want to feel satisfied. After being used this craving for so long, it's hard to imagine not feeling it. I know I traded her in. I traded all the lilies and the smiles and the white dresses. I guess this is what regret looks like, a large pool of lilies.
That's all I have for now. Thanks for reading and remember to keep writing!
No comments:
Post a Comment