i was this close to buying flowers today.

fresh orchids. beautiful white tulips. purple irises, the way van gogh would have imagined. small, precious daisies. a sunflower. or two. or three. nothing fancy. no long stemmed red roses -- no, that would be...too aristocratic, horribly mismatched in this sea of simplicity.

i've been living a lie.

all this time i claim to hate flowers. they're useless. pointless. impractical. a waste of money. who would spend $50 on a bouquet that would die in three days when one can spend it on --what? half a dolce & gabbana wife beater?

but there's just something about a fresh pot of flowers. and the way they wrap it in old newspapers at those cute flower stands in the middle of a fast-paced city. how they illuminate a room. the aura that lingers. the softness of petals when you graze your fingers across them.

reminscent of romance. dating. one month anniversaries. surprise visits at work. midnight deliveries with mint chocolate chip ice cream. breakfast in bed.

like i said, i was this close to buying flowers today.

then i thought, what good would it do me. i'd rather buy them for someone special.