A stupid post set me off this week. A stupid post on stupid Facebook. I’m sorry Facebook, I don’t mean that. But I sort of really do.
Her picture of flowers, different kinds with different romantic meanings.
I can’t even keep the tears from coming to my eyes as I remember. I don’t want my ex-husband to be mine ever again. I’m ok with the thought of him dating someone else.
I’m not ok with the thought I feel like the bottom rung on a ladder. The one that just gets stepped on and is only there to help the rest of the rungs be successful. That is not who I’m choosing to be, but it is how I feel.
Flowers with meaning. I don’t understand that phenomenon.
My high school boyfriend thought it was funny to give me ‘flour’ when he asked me to prom, instead of flowers. He forgot he had told me the year before about a friend who had done the same thing.
My ex-husband gave me gerbera daisies for Valentine’s Day, our first together, and I remember them sitting on my bathroom counter in the mornings when morning sickness would overcome me and I would vomit before getting back into bed. Flowers for the birth of our son, 7 ½ months later.
The next bouquet came when I found out the first time he had cheated on me, and from that point on, flowers came with suspicion and distrust.
So perhaps it was a blessing there weren’t many more flowers for a long time. On our first wedding anniversary, an arrangement arrived of the same flowers I carried down the aisle.
The only bouquet of roses I ever received was a desperate attempt to keep me from leaving.
I don’t know what it is about me that makes denying me romance so easy.
If he was thinking of me when we were married, it wasn’t to be thoughtful and do some kind, sweet gesture, like she gets after 6 weeks.
I would have loved to have been loved, instead of controlled.
I won’t let this ruin me, but I let it ruin my day, and my night.
And no one, knows why, she’s sad tonight, no one can help her find. . .crying, crying. . .