Like clockwork, I timed the demise of my past few relationships. They coincided with the deaths of the flowers I had been given by those very people.
It has become a pseudo paranoia for me--a hard-held belief despite my knowledge of its impossibility.
But tonight, when I am low and unresponsive, you send me an image of flowers you've drawn. Drawn for me. With the simple words, "it's growing!"
You never knew about the flowers...
So how did you intuit that this was exactly what I needed today? And every day?
That the flowers are not only blooming--not only growing--but permanent. From your thoughts to your hands to paper.
Like my words--art.
Without knowledge of my psychosis, you arrived bearing remedy.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Imperfect you--perfect for me.