Friday night Stephen brought me a flower, hiding it behind is back while we walked towards each other on Columbus. I didn't even notice until he handed it to me. I'm always surprised by flowers.
A single daisy. Bright and silly and sweet, like his smile when he realized he'd successfully hidden the flower.
Thursday evening, a call, not text, gchat, DM or any other form of electronic communication to say "Hi" after missing our regular date night. (Can something count as regular if it's only happened four times?) Another surprise, the first surprise I suppose. I find joy in the little things, the things that often disappear too fast. Maybe because I'm alway rushing relationships forward, instead of letting them unfold.
Thursday day, I sit in the sun, the first day it's been Spring weather and I've not been at work. I feel like I'm coming down with a cold, but I sit on the bench in Astoria Park and have one of those moments where I realize things might not be what I want them to be, but at that moment, I'm content. Things are ok. Take a moment to feel life without anxiety. Take a moment to breath.
Monday, a warm breeze at night transfering from the 7 to the G, city lights, I smile involuntarily. This is where I want to be.
Later, having had a bad evening, Stephen snaps at me, before I know it, I'm crying, I hate crying in front of other people. Guilt wracked because I've come over to comfort him and I'm crying. I think of the car accident I had seen that morning, how I'd given myself a pat on the back for not even having a mild panic attack. I wonder if that has to do with my over emotional reaction. He holds me and apologizes. I apologize. For once it's him telling me I have nothing to be sorry for instead of the other way around. I realize it's April. April is almost May.
Tonight, after a rough day, I'm trying to focus on the daisy. After a night at the rollerdisco, it hangs tattered, amongst dried flowers given to me by somebody else. But even though half of them are missing, it's bright yellow petals make me smile and I think maybe, maybe, the flower can keep the grief at bay. Maybe if I can focus on that, I won't find myself halfway through the workday wanting to lock myself in the bathroom and cry; maybe, I won't play the alternating between too much coffee to give me energy and to much booze to make me sleep game; maybe, I'll manage to not spend the next two weeks isolating myself, counting, counting down the days 'til May 3rd. Maybe my emotions will be reasonable so I won't feel that isolation is necessary.