Life is like ___.
Life is like trying to make a bouquet. Every person is predestined one type of flower, kind of like a florist. Every person you meet has a different type of flower. The idea is to exchange flowers with each person you meet until your bouquet’s complete. (Occasionally you get a few weeds.) Thing is, majority of people have no idea when enough is enough. There is no set definition to what is a “perfect” bouquet. It just feels complete to the person when the time comes. But what if you underestimate or overestimate? what if, when you take that step back at look, you don’t like what you see?
Continue on I-57 South for 71 miles.
Is a 完美 woman a complete bouquet? Flowers eventually lose their beauty… but what is it about this particular woman– about her existence– that makes him wander after the trail of her fragrance? A scent that begins to soak and intoxicate his mind, and he finds himself left with thoughts of her at the bottom of every glass… With each bat of her lashes, the resonating ring of her laughter, any curve on the corner of her lips– each one a suspect, a culprit for another sleepless night. His chest tightens, a pluck off another petal.
A woman full of quip and contradiction, and a mystery so unfathomable not even she can begin to understand.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. “I guess so.” We both laughed in the midst of a gloomy atmosphere.
Maybe goodbyes get easier as you get older, I thought as I drove towards the highway. Good Ass Intro blasted from the speakers and I found it irresistible not to sing along. Made a good spectacle out of myself, just enough to get a laugh out of a girl who finished her workout and a few bewildered stares from out-of-state parents.
My eardrums pounded, the rest of my body numb.