Petal

She’s coming back tonight. It’s been two whole weeks but it feels like only one because of the way time rushes by these days. Still, I miss the hell out of her and can’t wait until she arrives. I wanted to buy her a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers so that when she opened the door there was something else waiting aside from just me and a messy house and a pile of bills on the dresser, but I cant afford it. I’ve got pockets filled with pride and shame but no money. Nope. None.

Maybe ill buy her one flower, just one, which will only run me a couple of bucks at most, and I can present it to her on a pillow like a royal crown or precious jewels. I can offer it as more than a gift, like a symbol of devotion; I can get down on one knee and hang my head low as if I'm not worthy to look in her eyes. I can have a candle burning behind me, for atmosphere and romanticism. She likes that kind of stuff. I bet if I did that she would drop her bags and squeal like a little girl and pummel me with her body, kissing all over. She would feel like a princess and she should because she is.

I’ve got to clean the house a little though. You could hardly call this dump a palace. The place is covered in the crud and dirt and grime of a man two weeks with no woman, which is nothing you want to walk into unexpectedly. I need to wash the shit from the toilet seats and put the dishes that have been drying for a week and a half back in the cupboards where they belong. I’ve got to throw out all the empty beer bottles, and wipe the cigarette ash from the coffee table. That reminds me, I should light a scented candle, the stink of a lonely man is no easy aroma. Stale ashtrays in the living room, a pile of filthy clothes in the corner, puddles of stickiness perforating the hardwood floors, dirty dishes on the edge of the bed. It’s making me ill just thinking of it, who would want to come home to this pathetic heap?

She would. She is a princess, yes, but one with a crown of cardboard and a wrinkled, borrowed gown. She’ll take a bottle of beer and a hand drawn daisy on a piece of crumpled notebook paper, even if that daisy was missing petals and the colors bled outside the line. She’ll take my gap toothed smile and nappy ass hair, even if her fingers get tangled up in it. She’ll blush when I kiss her on the neck and feel like the most important girl in the world when I tell her I love her. She is a princess, yes, but a princess that would fall for the likes of me, and that’s a different shade of royalty.

I’m dirty, my mind and my body and everything around me, and I have to clean it up a bit before she gets home. It’s only right, it’s only fair. When she walks through that door and throws her arms around my neck and tells me she’s missed me and kisses me and makes me feel like the luckiest chump the earths ever seen I want to feel like I deserve some of that adoration. I don’t want to feel like I’m fooling anybody. Her, me, or the rest of the world. I want to feel like I’m a decent man, a hard drinking, penniless, slightly rank, but decent man.