(via saipua)

Some while ago I started this thing wherein when I see someone on the street, or on the train, with a bouquet of flowers, I accept them (in my mind) as meant for me.  Once when leaving an event I snagged an extravagant spray made up of gorgeous blossoming peonies, among other buds, and on my way home handed out individual flowers to strangers I caught admiring their beauty.  One particularly enthusiastic man, heading out to dinner with friends, proudly adorned his lapel.  I linger in the flower section in Whole Foods’ entrance debating how much, if anything, I’m willing to spend on various assortment combinations before I’ve even gotten to my overpriced grocery list. When I splurge and make a purchase, I feel particularly delighted to be the woman on the street with fresh flowers peaking out from my shopping bag.  I go months without having any in my home and then
spontaneously pick up a bunch vowing I will always treat myself so well.