I am finally home for good (for a month, that is) from college, and I am writing this from my bedroom “office”. This office consists of a thirty-dollar Walmart desk, a stack of unfinished novels, and four jars of pens, pencils, highlighters, and a few gum wrappers.
This is where the creativity flows.
My desk is next to a window, and the shelf below it is now empty. However, at one time in my life when I lived here permanently, it was loaded with at least five pots of plants. As I’ve brought up before on this blog (https://illiterateblondes.com/2017/03/06/flowers-for-the-occasion/), I am a plant person. I am obsessed with succulents, aloe, ferns, cactus, you name it.
But when it comes to flowers? This category of plant is what gets me going. Today, on the fifth day of my series, I am going to talk about my appreciation for petals.
Flowers represent so much to me, more than just a seed and some dirt. Flowers mean hope. You never know how big the tiny seed will grow, and the exact color it will bloom. Flowers mean devotion, because if you forget to water them (I have had many a mistake in this group), they shrivel up and leave you despairing over a pot of dry dust. Flowers mean renewal, because even when you think there is no chance or survival, somehow the leaves reappear in the spring.
Most of all, flowers mean love, forgiveness, and hope. A bouquet in the hands of the person you love more than anyone in the world somehow amplifies the volume of adoration. Flowers can represent an apology, an expression, or a prayer.
And you know what I’ve learned? Sometimes, you just have to buy the damn flowers for yourself. Don’t wait for someone else to show up on your doorstep with bunch of roses.
Because you have the power to forgive yourself, show your love, and wish for a miracle with every last drop of ambition you can muster. In fact, you deserve that!
Even in the dead of winter, I am thankful that the universe gave us flowers, even if I sometimes forget to water them.