First, you buy flowers. You love them so much you can’t seem to part. They sit in your living room, on your dining room table, on that hard-to-reach-but-totally-worth-it shelf in your upstairs bathroom where no one sees them but you and only when you’re in the tub. They sit so long that now a soft cough in the same room strips them of their petals. A politely closed door anywhere in the house. Now is time to carry them outside. And they fall apart, each pink petal adding to the story.
Your Monday metaphor makes me sad, Christine, and I hope I’m reading the wrong metaphor in it. I know all about the joy of flowers and how their smell and sight can linger in your heart, surprising you suddenly with their presence, lifting the mundane to the divine. For now, you get to treasure the memory and look forward to that wonderful day when your house and your heart is once again brightened by new young petals.