Sunflowers

I entered the grocery store and saw them: yes.

I literally ran towards them. I held them in my hands and practically fondled them. Fresh flowers. And they could be mine for five ninety-nine.

I had tears in my eyes.

Mine.

For weeks, I had been alone. Yes, I have three roommates, all of whom are nice enough. But that particular morning, Michael (roommate #1), with his shrill voice that could have broken the sound barrier, prevented me from reading quietly when he complained in his high-pitched decibel that he was out of eggs. And I had just about had enough.

And when Robbie (roommate #2) came downstairs later that morning and once again ignored my presence, once again said nothing, I snapped. I can't stand being ignored. I said a crisp hello, to which he grunted. And that was just about enough.

My walk to the store had been fraught with individuals whose idea of safety is to walk within two feet of me on a narrow sidewalk, not stepping out of the way, no remorse. In order not to explode, I had to tell myself that they simply can't read, simply either don't watch the news or outright deny it.

So when I walked into the store and saw the sunflowers, I gave myself the permission to say: Yes.

I practically lept on them. And I cried.

And yes, they are alive and well. And somehow, so am I.