Marked by Marigold

I stare at the blank canvas in front of me, the paint palette on my lap. The wood of the palette is now muddied from all the mixed colour stains from the past. I pick up the yellow paint tube. I don’t know what I will paint but I know it will be yellow, that is always the main colour I choose for my paintings. Waiting…..waiting for inspiration but nothing comes. A clattering sound from the kitchen startles me out of my reverie. I turn to look at him, the recent fling in my life. The thing that has been keeping me entertained for the past 3- no- 4 weeks? I don’t know because I struggle to keep track of those things. He stands there in his tartan pyjamas and I know I’ve reached the wall again and today is the day I will break it off again- too comfortable - too much of the same and now he has to go. Don’t get me wrong, it's nice especially at the beginning when it’s filled with so much excitement -going on dates, the late-night phone calls, the constant ‘not being able to keep your hands off of each other's feelings- but then I hit the wall. The fun and games stop and then it becomes serious and they expect certain things from you want you to spend time with them, prioritise them, show that you care and I dunno it just makes me want to escape. I want the freedom of going out as a please and having to think about someone else before any decision that I make just suddenly makes me care less about them and that is when I reach ‘the wall’ then out they go and I start all over again. You’d think one of these days I’d just stop dating but I can’t seem to help myself, the beginning is just too good not to crave it again.

‘Hey’ He says to me.

‘Hey.’ I reply, turning my head back to the blank canvas before me. ‘So I was thinking we should end things.’

‘W-what’

‘Yeah, I’m just not feeling it anymore’ I shrug and turn to face him. ‘Sorry’ I say nonchalantly.

His voice begins to crack a little. ‘Oh, but I thought you liked where things were going- you told me you loved me.’

‘Yeah and I did but I just feel different now.’

‘You had sex with me last night. How differently could things have changed in a few hours.’ His voice raises and she lets out a tired sigh.

'I know and I am sorry I just feel different now.’

‘I don’t think you’re thinking things through properly, you’re just having a moment to at least think about it a while before throwing what we have away.’

‘No, I don’t think that will be necessary.’

'Luc-’

I stand up and turn around, not realising when he had moved from the kitchen counter to just behind me. His face is filled with tears oh dear another crying one. ‘I’m going in the shower’ I say. ‘Feel free to pack your stuff and leave in the meantime.’ I’d say I feel bad which I feel like that should be the feeling right now but I can’t quite reach that place. A week ago I would’ve been heartbroken to see him this way but now the wall is up. I give him a brief, comforting hug because I feel like I should do that and then I take myself to the bathroom.

As the water falls on my face I feel a wave of relief wash over me. I hate those types of conversations, the awkward ones where you know you're going to upset someone's feelings. It makes me feel like a shitty person each time I have to have them- which for me seems to be quite frequent. I startle as the front door to the flat slams shut. Knowing that will be the last time I'll ever see him feels weird but it is better than keeping someone around and lying to yourself and him. As the water falls so does a few tears muddled in amongst the other water like a little secret. I hate the wall, I wonder sometimes if I am cursed to be alone, I want to be a better person to someone, I want to be that 'best friend' that 'soulmate' the person they can love and rely on to be there for them through anything. I was that to someone once but I wasn't a good person to them but even back then my 'wall' manifested in other ways, they deserved so much more than what I could give them so I left and I still leave.

I look down at the water curving down my thigh to the marigold tattoo. Many past lovers have seen the tattoo but they don't see it for what it is. Marigold, the bright yellow happy colour, the beauty of the flower the warmth that comes with it for most people they see the marigold tattoo and they see a bright, happy girl who loves pretty things like flowers and the warmth of sunshine, positivity. The marigold flower can symbolise all of that but it also symbolises grief, jealousy, and cruelty- that is why I got the marigold flower tattoo.

My therapist used to tell me that I lack empathy for other people due to my trauma - having the death of my Mother from an early age and a very absent and resentful Father can 'apparently' mess with your head a little. I don't think that was true in my case. I think it's just easy to blame people's issues on their parents because that is the most common narrative - anyway my therapist was an idiot.

The rest of the day went by easily enough. Finally painted on the blank canvas- some shitty thing I slapped together that for now I am calling 'Heart of Gold' will probably bin it later once I stare at it long enough that my lack of talent will overwhelm me enough to want to get rid of it.

In the evening I take a walk to a nearby park, book in hand ready to take in the warm glow of the sunset and some outdoor serenity. I sit on a park bench reading a few chapters. Peace. See being single has its perks I never do this sort of thing when I'm with someone I should stay single, keep my life simple and not-

'Hey sorry, do you mind if I sit here for a moment?' A glance up to see a tall, dark-haired man stood just across from me.

'No- no go for it' I smile. He's notably been out of an evening jog based on his sporty attire, shortness of breath, and the dark pool of sweat in the middle of his chest which his grey t-shirt highlights a little too well. He's not a bad-looking guy though. He notices that I've been looking a little too long and then glances at my book.

'Any good?'

And at that moment I thought what the hell. Here we go again.