Sunflowers

They always were your favorite. I never quite understood the obsession. They wilted in such a peculiar way, I couldn’t get around it. Yellow, yellow, black curve, another yellow wilted strand; what on earth is wrong with it? Not to say, ‘what’s wrong with you’, as you are just fine, but why did you have to like that, of all things? It was the only argument we ever made, and it was wonderfully bizarre. We got more than a few stares.

“Its leaves aren’t leaves but proportions of something stunted!”

“It’s not! They are idyllic. A reflection of the way things are titled in such a way we cannot think for a moment all things were created without personality.”

“You mean without taste? So disturbed all of life simply must stop and stare, in the very best of scenarios.”

“You have no taste.”

“Says the girl with it in her dress, and who thinks of nothing but it.” “Oh, come now, you can say its name, can’t you?”

I never could. She would smile, having won the battle of the distasteful aesthetic again. I would just stare up at the metal pipe chandelier and try to make some kosher comment about craftsmanship and craftsmen, and how their minds must be as twisted as their trade. A failure, on my part. I should’ve rehearsed.

I hate the way they think. Who is infatuated with staring directly at the sun? All those eyes, they are stricken with an acute blindness. They should’ve left her be. They should’ve been satisfied at looking through their peripheral.

We had another argument. The insufferable usual. She turned to shut me up again, and then it froze as it was. It was a perfectly ordinary intersection. Everything was green, as it should. Why? All I could see was you and them, spread out like a painting. It lacked detail, an artist’s touch. Brushstrokes. I never wanted to forget. I’ve heard some do. I couldn’t reach for my phone. It was locked in time all the same.

I told you. Why didn’t you listen to me? I told you…

I wear yellow now. Please don’t expect that I’d dress like you. This is my token. I unearthed them for you. They can lay beside you. Take care of them or have them take care of you. Perhaps it was once mutual.

It’s not about sunflowers anymore. Was it ever?