There's Nothing To Be Done Now But To Send Flowers

 Sending Flowers
 10/30/2014

I am sending you flowers
Sending you flowers after,
I could not sent them before.
You will not receive them of this I am sure.  

Your friends will see them and know your memory is 

held in the hearts of some faceless entity on the other side of the county.

Almost 20 years ago I forgave you; spiteful, frustrated scared, 

I let it all go. 

I did not act on it, this forgiveness; 

I didn't want to give you the opportunity to strike again.

If there were still hard feelings about my college years, 

I could not scroll page upon pages of ProFlowers: sympathy arrangements, funeral bouquets, casket inserts.
I could not have rallied the family to assist me in this physical act of forgiveness.
I question my own need for forgiveness.

I curse my emerging adult self for giving up, 

the self protection and alienation. 

You were strange; you thought I was too. 

When I was a young teenager you actually referred to me as a "strange bird". 

Perhaps it was a compliment allowing the translation may have been a bit  askew. 

Could strange have meant rare, unique or even oddly charming?

Are birds a symbol of something beautiful in France?

All I could think of was Beaky Becky from the Garbage Pail kids trading card series:

A lurching vulture-like creature,I doubt you ever saw it. 

Ever the critic under the pretense of helping,

or maybe you did disdain me as much as it appeared. 

The truth is more complex than that; it's found somewhere in the murky middle. 

The time for analyzing the relationship is over.

I will ever only know one side and only one side in part. 

The specifics have blurred.

I'm left only with my little tiny memories:

Dreamlike, inconsistent, nonsequential, snippets of a time when 

I was a different sort of me and you were part of that history.