My congratulatory flowers are starting to wilt.
My nightstand drawer is open.
It collects the fallen petals.
I'm at my desk
Taking deep breaths
And I can smell them wilting
That sweet smell
Of flowers languishing
In unchanged water.
The lilies peel back their petals slowly...
Until it looks as if they'll tear themselves apart.
It's subtly defiant...
I never knew flowers could look so angry
Spurning their human-catered connotations.
I reach out and feel their drooping limbs
and they strike me as odd -
smooth but clammy
weak but not lifeless.
They have nothing to give me
Nor I, them.
Because rebirth is a solitary experience.
It strips me down on days like this.
Where things line up to decay
Where isolation feels like such dangerous fuel for my anger.
I sort through my nightstand drawer of lonely petals
Looking for a revelation...
Suddenly I recall how sometimes
the only way we can win is to wilt.
That surviving is simultaneously living and dying.