So for my birthday this past year, during the Age of the Ex-boyfriend, I was in a long-distance relationship. For my birthday, I received a dozen colored roses with a big red bow and a cute little note. Now me, being a romantic disguised as a realist, thought this was the gosh-darn cutest thing ever.
However, as the roses died, so did the relationship, with oddly close timing I might add. And there they sat, on the bookshelf, bearing a symbol of the dead, festering relationship that I couldn't decide whether to get rid of or stare at. Now, of course, there was some laziness that contributed to their long stay on the bookshelf, but mostly I think I didn't want to throw away my gosh-darn cute memory. Sometimes I worried that I'd come home from work, and my sister, who saves everything, would throw them away. But she didn't...and I didn't.
So today, while cleaning up, my sister gently said, "Kelsie, I think it's time to throw away the roses." I thought briefly about it and realized that it was just like the children's poem, "The time has come, the Walrus said" (And yes, Kayla would be playing the Walrus in this production). So I picked them up, walked carefully up the stairs, so they didn't disintegrate and spread rotten plant everywhere. I went outside, more worried about getting the little glass shards from the driveway in my bare feet, than how I felt about the roses, and I threw them away. I skipped back inside, again to avoid the glass shards, and gave a little sigh of relief.
And that was that. Well, minus scrubbing the grime off the bottom of the vase.