Towards the end of the relationship when you were not willing to admit defeat, while you were still hopeful.
Each Friday afternoon I would open my door and you would be standing there with flowers.
I had to carry the flowers home, so everyone would see what a wonderful guy you were. All I could think was, if you gave them to me on a Monday it would brighten my office all week. Now I have to drag them home, on the train, hope the cats don't knock them over in the vase, and then throw them out after they wilt and die.
I told you I didn't like gladiolus, but you continued to buy them anyway. Who were you buying them for?
I dated a young man who bought me carnations each week, the kind they dye different colors. I was such a romantic I would press each flower from the bouquet in a book, lay them out on a piece of colored cardboard and frame them. I had the framed flowers in my room until he broke my heart. Then I replaced the flowers with magazine covers that Woody Allen had appeared on.
Flowers are lovely, but they die.
I used to think it was wrong to cut them and put them in a vase.
Truth is they die on the bush, the stem or the vine just as quickly.
Maybe better to just draw me a picture.
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