Soul Bloom

The ink bloomed on her skin with such vibrancy it could be confused for true blossoms. Even in the soft light of a candle the brilliance was not diminished. Her shallow breathing told me she had slipped into sleep and my heavy eyes warned me that I was not far behind. I fought the pull of drowsiness however, eager to never waste a moment, particularly rare ones such as these. I loved her dearly in the waking hours, she contained more energy than a lake filled with coffee and a laugh that could wake the night. I even loved the sleepy afternoons when she mumbled whatever was rolling through her mind; but the moments of quiet, unfiltered, unedited ‘her’ were something else. Careful to not disturb her, but unable to resist, I traced the tiny garden displayed across her hip; tulip, gladiolus, rose, lavender. Each flower was beautifully hand picked, each represented a unique meaning for her. I traced circles around the marigold with a smile playing at my lips, it was possibly the brightest amongst the garden with its golden splendor. The marigold always made me think of her; vibrant, loud and giving - the perfect home for bees, and for me. Marigolds, like every flower, have a specific meaning and their meaning suited her beyond casual coincidence. It was as if she had bloomed with the first golden flourish before the world realised her splendor and plucked her from the ground. A beautiful curse, petals trapped in bones. A living reflection of warmth and joy. Everything has a shadow however and my personal understanding of the duality of the meaning of marigolds came from knowing her. They are also a symbol of jealousy, grief, and despair; all the colours I would paint myself with if she was ever taken from me. In the shadow of these thoughts an idea formed and I still wore the smile it brought me as I blew out the candle and sleep took me. I swear even in the darkness that flower glowed.

I stirred in the morning when she kissed me gently then slipped back into sleep as she rushed off to work. As I fell back into dreams filled with flowers I could feel the pollen brushing on my lips, a reminder of her brief goodbye. I finally rose for the morning closer to the afternoon than the dawn and grinned that I could fulfill the plan I had groggily contemplated in the depths of night. The bright announcement of the day had not brought any hesitation to the plan and so I showered, ate, and dashed out the door with the eagerness of a child with the promise of candy.

Four hours later I was giddy with my excitement and more than eager for my woman to return from work and bless me with her reaction. I spent the next while counting the minutes until her return and trying not to burn the pasta I was cooking in the meantime. I had the table set, the wine poured, and the red stain on the table cloth where I had missed the glass in my nervous state covered by a bowl I had filled with christmas baubles as a decorative centerpiece. I was just lighting the candles as I heard her car pull into the drive. If I had thought I was nervous before my stomach did its best at the moment to prove otherwise, trying to out-do itself by twisting in a swell of emotions that made me want to burst into fits of giggles and bite off all my fingernails.

The door swung open and in she wandered; grinning as soon as she saw me standing awkwardly by the set table. She moved in for a swift kiss and a crushing cuddle, murmuring her thanks in my ear but I barely heard the words over my own heart-beat.

“What brought this on?” She questioned.

“I love you and wanted to put that into… pasta I guess.” She chuckled at my lame attempt to joke but graciously took the seat I pulled out for her. I hesitated a moment longer before deciding there was no way I could stomach food before showing her the true surprise I had planned.

“There is one more thing.” I said, nearly choking on the words. A look of concern wrinkled her brown momentarily as she tried to decipher what I was struggling with. “Sorry, I am being weird. I am just scared you won’t like it.” I said before she could say anything.

“What, this looks great?” She said, gesturing to the table before her not quite understanding.

“No, not that.” I said waving off her dispute. “This.” I said, shifting so that my hip was pointed at her. I lifted the hem of my skirt until the material was bunched in my fist above my waist and the side of my thigh was fully exposed. I watched her face expectantly as she took in the new tattoo that curled across the skin there. She gasped and covered her mouth, hiding half her expression and leaving me guessing. I watched as her eyes traced the stem of the flower, curved delicately in a one-line silhouette of a female figure until the line ended and where the head of the woman would have been was a bright-orange marigold in full bloom. Before I could ask her for her thoughts I saw her eyes fill with tears. I dropped the skirt immediately and moved to comfort her.

“No, no.” She protested, pulling the edge of my skirt back over the fresh tattoo. “This is beautiful.” She breathed, voice heavy with her tears. “You did this for me?” She asked, looking up into my goofy smile.

“Of course my love, you are the most beautiful blossom and I needed you to see just how much you mean to me.” I said. She laughed and the sound was full of joy. Then she kissed me deeply and it spoke more than all the words we couldn’t find, just how much she loved me too. My marigold, brighter than the sun; for she could shine even through the darkest night; I would hold onto this bloom forever.