The plastic pouch said ‘plant food.’ It was Valentine’s Day and I had just received my bunch of freshness. Unlike packaged food for humans, this one didn't have an ingredient label. Though I was sure it was a chemical concoction, I decided to give in.
Days passed by. My flowers stayed in a tall glass by the window that overlooks the rolling hills. On life support, I thought every time I looked at them. The moment water ran out of chemicals, I knew my flowers would die.
They pulled through till the season of love passed. The plant food was meant to support them only till the end of season. Of love. The flowers looked as fresh as they would be on a plant, putting up a brave face.
At the end of a week or two, I noticed signs of deliverance. Wrinkled edges, crinkled petals, ready to break free at any moment. I noticed how even in parting, they were eager for sunshine, their tips turned toward the sun, touching the glass window. But very soon, I had to let them go.
In life, as in love, we find instances when we turn to ‘plant food’ solutions. When we get a semblance of hope/ love, and then it's taken away too soon. The ones with roots, the ones that run deep, the ones capable of taking the sun will be in for long.