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Day 249: Flower Memories

Roses remember things, or more realistically, they remind you of things you remember. They have the power to transport one back to a time, a time from your history, from your own unique story. Roses and many other flowers, have the beautiful blessing and terrible curse of memory.

You see them and you remember, the emotions rise and you’re transported back. Back into your own past, sometimes back into painful parts of your story and other times joyful parts of your story. Sometimes roses can even bring up mixed emotions, making it all that much harder to accept the memories. The sight, smell, or touch of the soft petals can bring forward the most vivid memories. 

Memories of the most beautifully fragrant rose bush in your grandparents yard. Or maybe memories of a bouquet of flowers carried down an aisle on a fateful day. Memories such as receiving flowers after a major performance you were worried about. All the memories of the good, beautiful things that bring a smile to your lips and a flutter to your heart.

And yet, sometimes memories are not all that pleasant. Memories tucked in pressed petals given by a love that didn’t last. Or possibility memories of tear stained eyes looking over a cluster of flowers resting on a casket. Memories of the roses you never received when you found out a love would never be returned. All the memories of the sad and painful times that brought tears to your eyes and a knife to your heart. 

Memories are sometimes the worst part of life and other times they are the very things that make life wonderful. We all deal with our own gardens of memory triggers, my question for you is what memories are surfacing? And what might they be telling you?

Until Next Time,
Lillian Merritt

“Saudade”
(A deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. It often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never be had again)
The air is thick with the perfume of roses and the grass is littered with fallen petals. With each blossom that blooms and withers, is a memory that slips from the past to be remembered again and again.

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