Flowers, they do not know they are dead.
They sit in the vase, still blooming,
opening up, but soon they will wonder
why their petals are falling off. What
is happening? they'll scream. Why is this
happening to us! Noooo, nooo. But for
now they are sitting pretty, soaking up
the water. But soon they'll know they're
dead. She rolls her eyes. Asks me if I'm done.
We have things to discuss, she says. How
we're going to divide everything. In
half, I say. The couch, the table, the
duvet. We'll cut everything completely
down the middle. That's not helpful, she
says. I've made a list here of things I
own and what you own and what we bought
together. Do you like the flowers I bought
you? I say. No, she says, you shouldn't
have. They are pretty but you shouldn't
have. Okay, fine, I say. They're for me.
We don't have to divide them up. They're
all mine. This one already lost a petal.
Don't worry, little buddy, I still think
you're beautiful. I'm going to enjoy you
while you're here. When you're gone I'll
be sad but that is life. Are you done
talking to the flowers? she says. Yes, I
say. Yes. I'll talk to you later, flowers, but
now I have to deal with some things.