October 23, 2017

I saw a beautiful flower today.

via Horticultural Art.
I saw a beautiful flower today. She helped me at the bank to cash an old savings bond that had been tucked away in a book and forgotten until accidentally discovered. 

Her dark hair was put up in a single, small knot held together with a long, wooden pin, leaving only a few small whisps of hair to dance along her thin neck. She wore a black, short sleeve top with faint white polka-dots, and the sleeves extended only enough to cover her shoulders and politely discourage men like myself from gazing at the intimacy of her armpits. The neck was cut to let her collarbones breathe, and I confess that I imagined myself reaching out to touch her. A dark sash tied just below her bust gave the look of an empire waist from which flowed a clinging, dark dress. 

My mouth opened to speak: Your patience is exceeded only by your beauty, You look stunning today, I love your ensemble. But I said nothing--what does my opinion of her fashion choice matter to her? She knows how she looks, and the power over me may even be the reason she chose it. Instead of giving voice to the poor poetry that asked for release, I thanked her for her time and left. 

Nothing could be gained from attempting to pick that flower. It was better to only bear witness to her graceful beauty than to diminish it with clumsy attempts to win her gratitude. Why should I deserve a flower's gratitude for the sake of her own beauty? She deserves mine.

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Freedom of Expression =/= Freedom from Consequences