12 Roses

32 | Withered Flowers

Flowers are a language that only the people who sit down and learn it can understand. They can't live around it and hope to pick it up through tidbits of conversation or even be born with it being their mother tongue.

That's why people came to flower shops for feelings that cannot be put into words.

You had seen many emotions painted on people's faces as they entered the store; many emotions sculpting their features, their hands, their bodies.

Rivers carved into their cheeks, their bodies quaking in grief or heartbreak.

Sunshine beaming through gaps of teeth, stars in love-struck eyes.

A strong wind swirling around people as they stood on their peaks, on top of the world.

You translated these feelings into flowers and strung them together and gathered them in the folds of paper. You made them beautiful.

You didn't know what to do when even you couldn't see the beauty of it all.

The door of the shop opened and the entering wind toyed with the looseness of your clothes, causing you to look up from the orders you were reading through.

Tsumiki stood in the empty space between the flowers, tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.

You dropped your pen and stood to join her in that empty space amongst the flowers. You didn't ask her what was wrong and simply pulled her into your arms, which in that moment seemed to be moulded just for her.

As she wracked your body with sobs and cries, dampened your clothing with tears, you reached out and flipped the open sign to have the closed side face outside.

When she pulled away and stilled herself enough to sign, she said, "My mother is gone."

Your eyes gazed at her in a way she had never seen before, lacking the love and warmth that your gaze normally held. It was disbelief in your eyes, incredulousness.

Without another word, you placed your hands on either side of your face and swiped away the remainder of her tears with your thumbs, gently, as if she would tear. Then you took her hand and pulled her up the stairs to your home above, not forgetting to shut off the lights of the flower shop.

Your home was void of others, as per usual — your mother was likely out making deliveries while your dad was at work until late in the night. Tsumiki wondered how you never got lonely, until she notices the creases in book spines and the plants that may as well had been running around with the amount of life they emanated.

She sat on the couch and you sat beside her, letting her lean her head against your shoulder.

You were lost, trying to figure out words of comfort, but you couldn't string them together.

"It'll be okay" wasn't right.

"Who needs her anyway" was definitely not what she wanted to hear... or see.

"You're better off without her"... no, definitely not.

You could explain feelings just fine, justify them, even. Getting rid of them was another story.

You tried recalling how you comforted Maki, but you didn't quite do that — rather, diverted her attention to something she would enjoy more. Spite.

Tsumiki, however, had access to many things she loved and enjoyed in that living room from how she left her being behind every time she visited, and yet she went to none of them.

Her head remained on your shoulder.

You furrowed your brow; your eyes darted to the different things Tsumiki could be reaching for to make her feel better: the karaoke microphones, the paint you kept in the drawer for when she came over, the books she lent to you that you read only once because they weren't your style but she loved them so you had to at least know them.