I used to take long walks in the garden

Before I had a car. Before every colour sprouting out of the soil blurred together into a continuous sea of green as I hurdled down the road at 140 km/h. Because who really drives the speed limit

I used to smell the flowers

Sweet as the scent of stimerol infinity tropical bubblegum in the mouth of a girl with a shy smile

I tasted a flower once

I had imagined the texture for so long that the true memory of what was has long since been forgotten by my lips and my tongue. My mind remembering only the textures and tastes of its own making

I gazed at a lot of flowers

Bright yellow petals with long stems covered thorns begging to have the complex patterns on their overlooked leaves noticed

Lavender bulbs that wouldn’t blossom except for when gently touched by a hand warmed in the sun overlooking a university fountain on a weekday afternoon

A moon flower spotted dancing freely in the evening breeze in the depths of winter into springtime. Disappearing as fast as it appeared

Long walks in the garden sometimes meant picking a few to sit on my windowsill

A white lily that didn’t quite fit right with the rest of the room

A dandelion that weathered away when I left the window open for too long

A violet whose gentle petals beat against the window when the fan was on

A red rose that would have lit up the room had it not died before I found it

Flowers I never learnt to name before they wilted

A black velvet petunia afraid of the cold and demanding a few kind words

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