There were days I didn’t go out
and days I couldn’t remember.
Sometimes I sat at my desk
watching the trees outside blooming,
as if we had nothing in common.
They had the sun,
I had the sun through a window.
They were beginning,
I was unsure what I was.
Then one afternoon
after an early drink
I decided to get them —
alive and understated,
aware they were not
the most beautiful flowers
yet reassuringly strong.
I don’t know how they gave
the illusion of order.
One that was impossible to find
talking to friends, lovers, old colleagues;
they did not talk back. The tulips.
They merely filled the room,
their purpose being to be loved
for what they were, entirely
by how I saw them. No struggle
or epiphany. No work.
And so I did. I loved them.
I was envious I could not be them.
Simple and so sudden. In a vase.