Pressed Flowers

I sent her four pressed flowers. Three cherry blossoms and a daffodil, from the park where I watch the sun make its descent in the sky each evening. Spring hasn’t graced her ecosystem yet, she is further north than I am.

I worry that sending her this token of spring may have come too soon. Maybe I will spook her. But honestly I am still holding back, so if this is too much then perhaps it was never going to work in the first place.

I am ready to jump. I am ready to fall. But maybe she isn’t.

And so I wait by the phone for her to call. These days we take our phones with us, so here I am perpetually waiting. The letter probably isn’t even there yet. The post runs slow, or slower than any other way we communicate these days, and I like that. It takes five to eight days of waiting even before they see what you have said.

They can know that you have been thinking of them for all that time. And maybe that it wasn’t an impulse text that was sent after a couple drinks. I am very intentional and careful, probably even calculated.

I am mostly going with what would I want someone to do for me, and as I get to know her I will craft those interactions to suit her better. Because I want to make her smile. I don’t say happy because no one can do that for more than a moment or two, but a smile is the briefest embodiment of happiness, so I am good with just that.

Photo: Dark Moss. NC, 2016.

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