Carnations

The white carnations in her vase seemed to mock her shadow as she passed by her table.
She had let herself slip again. She had let go of herself yet again. After quite a long time, she had felt the warmth of a golden ball creep up her body. She had put down her guards just a little bit. She had dared to believe in the wisp of hope that clung almost barely to the darkness in the distance.

Perhaps, she had forgotten that hope was the only semblance of consolation that had been left for Pandora after the brutal agonies of misery. Perhaps, she had been blind to the ache, to the anger, to the insecurities, that had been just a mile away, or a few, camouflaged by the night sky.

And now, with her unchecked thoughts as her only companion, she felt herself closing up again. The cynic in her rebuked her, how had she let herself be swayed so easily? But for someone who had been hurt so deeply, does hoping come that easy?

Her walking became aimless now, as she tripped over a brown paper package. The wind pulled her hair back as bent down to open it.

It was almost like a painting.

The way her usually expressive eyes looked soullessly at the flowers at her feet.
A beautiful bouquet of red and yellow carnations.

Life mocked her.

-Ishita Gupta