(c) September 2, 2013 by Swami X


The little flower by the window would always brighten when she came into the room, perk up in anticipation of the touch of her nose. As she inhaled his perfume, they would come together in a moment of union.

Some days she was too busy thinking about all the things she had to do that day that he would receive only water but not her touch. On certain days in a rush to the next thing to do, see, or get to, she would even forget to water him. If her neglect lasted more than a day he would drop a leaf or two; he learned to deal with his thirst by needing less. His voice of distress was muffled beneath the fragrant proclamation of his love for her.

Soon her sniffs lacked the depth she used to commit to him and the watering was served devoid of the love energy that pepped his petals. He knew she still loved him, just that she couldn’t find the time or energy to express it. He would have to figure out how to nourish himself through the droughts.

And then she went away for one of her retreats. This wasn’t the first time she left him for a weekend, even a week. But it was the first time he didn’t feel her thinking about him. And despite all his efforts to stay bright and fragrant for her, he finally withered.

Flowerless with brown dried out leaves, he emitted his last exhale of aroma for her smelling pleasure before becoming one with the dirt. He wondered if she’d even notice.

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