Please send me flowers
When I am gone, please send me flowers. Flowers are color incarnate, and color caresses the eye the same way words sometimes do to the ears, when they come sweet and unbidden. Flowers like good words are not meant to be bought or forced out. They should come as a gift, a blessing, a secretive smile from soul to soul. When I am gone, I want my house invaded by reds, yellows and blues, purples, pinks and violets, every hue, like I have never seen while walking on the light of the day. For I have been given too few, and I think I will never will live to see such rainbow fantasy. Flowers seem to be too vain a gift, a cliché of gentler times that never were, meant to last for a day. But color, free and unleashed, impresses the eye in a lasting way, the way some words sometimes do, their sound lingering on the ears. When I am gone, do send me flowers.
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