Ophelia's flowers

One minute, that's how long it would take her body to sink. She knew this because she was smarter than what all the people in her life gave her credit for.

"Get thee to a nunnery" he had yelled at her, her dress soaked up the water around her slowly as his words soaked deeper into her heart. Oh but they had thought she was mad. He was the one who was mad, swearing his love to her and then taking it back. He had been so out of his mind that he'd mistakenly killed her father.

She sank a little lower, there was no fight left in her. She had known what she was doing passing out invisible flowers, they just didn't understand her. They had never tried when she was plain with them, why be plain now. If Hamlet could talk in riddles and puzzled the whole castle, why should she be any different. He had lost his father and gone mad, she had lost hers and finally seen the truth. It was different, it would always be different and not just because he was a Prince. But because he was a he and she wasn't. Her own father and brother tried to control her every decision. The only other women in her life was possibly an accessory to murder. And had dismissed her as mad just like the rest of them.

Couldn't they see? Couldn't they see it?

Would a girl who was mad remember clearly the meaning of flowers like she had and used them appropriately. She felt her body starting to sink into the water as she remembered the flowers she'd listed and their meaning. Rosemary for remembrance and pansy for lover’s thoughts. Fennel for deceit , columbine for desertion. Rue of course for regret, daisy for hope and finally violet for faithfulness which not one person got because they all withered with father.

How they looked on her with pity as she looked all of them clearly for the first time, knowing what she was saying with her words. They may never understand what they percieve as the ravings of a mad woman. A woman so lost without her lover, and her father. Sad yes but not lost, their love was not a love that gave but took. It was the love of ownership and not of nurturing.

They fight over me but never for me, if only they would dive in now to save me. I fear the minute I am gone they will fight each other over who's love was stronger. I wait for them to show me now but it's not for me, it's always been for them. If only their love could have left their hearts to reach out to me instead of holding it up as a token to prove themselves capable of the notion. I was their flower to be picked and tossed aside once the fragrance stagnated. Heavy now the water washes over the petals of my eyelids one last time.