My calla lily withered. It lost the freshness that made it beautiful, the vitality that made me smile and think that it just might live longer than its supposed lifespan.
As I detest the death of this gorgeous, lovely gift that is no more, I stop myself from thinking of what plant food I could've given it or how changing the water might have given it another day in the vase. I've done that with roses and carnations before.
This time it's a calla lily--a flower I've never received from anyone before, one of my favorites. I treat it tenderly. See I enjoyed every minute of how it made my room feel when it was alive. And I'm glad that I'm letting it go before it gets too old and stains the vase with mildew and yuckiness (also a thing I've done with roses and carnations). It's lived, and it's not living anymore. And that's life.
I love being given this calla lily, and I destest that it's withered.
And so it is . . .
Calla #3 by Allan Baillie
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