Lazy Girl Entry

I was pressing a few yellow tulips under a book that I was sure was never going to be picked up. It was.

The odd pieces scattered. They fell into a bit of cat hair, actually. I swept the petals into my hands and remembered how delicate they used to feel. The yellow had softened, the wrinkles deepened, the once-gorgeous flower, an object of my affection, looked akin to dehydrated, jaundiced skin.

A bit of pollen sprinkled the parchment paper, a last reminder of their intended purpose. Once a contributor to the greater scheme of things and now a forgotten, flattened, unidentifiable object. I hate pollen. And I hate these stupid, ugly flowers. I hate that I thought they'd be something.