USPS

UsPS

by Yesterdays Princess

I had always wanted a bouquet, so you tried to mail me flowers. You foraged through your backyard and plucked haphazardly. Some of them you cut at the petals, others you ripped right off at the stems. Half of them were still damp with morning dew and others were flaking and crusted with dried pollen. You jammed all of it into a withered cardboard box and scribbled my name on the top with big slanted letters in permanent pink marker. It stained more like a rosy red into the composted brown surface. It was quite the sight when I opened the package this morning. Crushed soggy petals and dried-up wrinkly leaflets all mashed and intertwined with vines and dead bugs who didn’t make it out alive of your floral crusade through the garden. It was borderline disgusting, a strange franken-posy of plants and florets and dried-up roots. I couldn’t stop sneezing. I kept getting hints of basil and mint despite finding none of either in the assortment. My skin felt itchy as I tried to sort through all the different segments and pieces to see if there were any salvageable blossoms.

Eventually I just had to give up. I settled on dumping the entire parcel into my lap, gathering everything into my criss-crossed legs and holding the pile close in my arms. The entire sensory experience was exactly what loving you felt like. Confusing and prickly and soft and wet. The smell of cold dirt and fresh floral tea was so strong in my nostrils and lungs. It made me burst into tears. I coughed and sobbed as I laid my face in it, closed my eyes and felt every single texture and piece of foliage.