She still sees him. She still talks to him.
Alice works in her garden every single day, after having devoted her life to the flowers she grows and sells in her floral shop. It all leads back to the first day of spring twenty five years ago, when sh...
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i. peony — romance, prosperity, good fortune, a happy marriage, riches, honor, and compassion.
in ancient and medieval times their roots and seeds were believed to cure over twenty diseases including epilepsy and snake bites.
another myth links the name peony back to a nymph named paeonia whose beauty attracted the attention of apollo. out of spite, aphrodite turned her into a peony. this legend is likely what led to the flower's meaning of poor luck in the victorian age. in contrast, the peony gained a reputation for bashfulness because legend had it that nymphs would hide their naked forms by turning into peonies.
Every hangover seemed to be worse than the day before. FP had stopped caring about them. The first time he felt this awful he had told himself it wouldn't happen again. The second time he told himself that he had simply forgotten how it felt and needed a tough reminder. The third time it was beginning to show the start of a pattern.
But that was two years ago. Too many hangovers to count, too little fucks to give. What had he left caring for anyway? His ex-wife had long run away from him, and his son lived at his aunt's place. Life pretty much sucked without his kids.
His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned when he noticed that it was already ten in the morning. If it wasn't for the curtains that he had forgotten to close at night he wouldn't have had the sun on his face, waking him up. For now, he wouldn't get much sleep anymore.
FP didn't even remember when he ever had a decent night of sleep, not since he was a teenager. As if his growing headache wasn't enough, there was something else that woke his senses. It was the smell of a perfume that he didn't recognize. He wasn't surprised, but his memory was so faded that he didn't know what or who to expect in his living room.
Nevertheless, he grabbed his sweatpants from his bedroom floor and took a new shirt out of his closet to shuffle his way to the other part of the trailer.
The bedroom door squeaked open, and he noticed a woman with long brown curls on his couch. She was wearing his flannel. He absolutely it hated when people wore his clothes. However, the worst thing was that he didn't even recognize ending up in bed with her, or even taking her home.
"About time you woke up." She spoke. Her voice was too loud for his liking.
"It's my home. I can wake up any damn time I want." He grumbled.
"I was about to take a shower. Care to join me?" The woman hopped off the couch and tiptoed on her way to the kitchen, where FP was trying to brew some coffee.
"No, thanks."
FP wasn't in the mood to have a sex with a woman who's name he didn't even remember the next morning. It was worse enough that she was still in his home. Tomorrow when he would be hammered again he would totally forget how awful it made him feel, but in his moment of clarity he knew how to say no.
