Flower and Flour

I bought myself tulips the other day. Lavender ones – pale and pretty. The kind that would make me smile if I saw them neatly sitting on a windowsill. The kind that would inspire thoughts of one day, that’ll be me if I saw a girl walking down the street, carrying them in her arms. 

Only this time that girl was me. Except I had to squish them under my elbow because I was also carrying two bags of groceries and so it wasn’t nearly as graceful as I imagined it in my head. 

Still, I bought myself tulips. It’s not like I never bought myself flowers before, but this time, it was different. I see my life playing out like a movie montage, the days passing in little moments of simple pleasures, blending from one enchanting scene to the next. 

Even the most mundane tasks delight me. You’ve probably never seen a person get so excited to draw back the curtains every morning, or put the groceries away, or decide to bake scones. I even had to make an extra trip to the shop because I didn’t have any baking ingredients. I practically ran down the spiral staircase. The sky was already getting dark. And there I was, on a mission to buy flour. 

I’ll remember this, I thought. I’ll remember this delicate street of light and shadows, this crescent moon, this cold sensation on my fingers. I’ll remember my first attempt at baking scones all on my own; the flour spilling onto the table, the thrill of closing the oven door and trying not to peek in every five minutes. 

I’ll remember how the tulips looked with the sun shining on them. And how wonderful and warm the first bite of my blueberry scone tasted. 

And I’ll remember feeling happy.

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