The flowers must have died by now
but you have not called.

I counted so slowly
but you never came.

Now they will be gone
and you can forget in peace.


21 July 1989
 
  

It wasn’t a wreath, it was bouquet. At least I think it was a bouquet but the more I think about it the more I can’t figure out what reason I could’ve concocted for sending B. flowers. If I had I also can’t imagine her not picking up her phone immediately to either thank me or to ask why. Maybe it was something else and I’m using flowers as a metaphor. Or maybe this one has nothing to do with B. even though it reminds me of her. Now it’s its own thing.