Gemotions

The sunflowers, so ridiculously, brightly yellow, felt like a deliberate provocation. I took them from the bewildered delivery man with a curt nod, the cheerful blooms a mocking contrast to the storm brewing inside. I carried them into the kitchen, placing them on the counter. No card. Just a blatant act of contrition. I grabbed a knife. The sunflowers, I realized, wouldn't last. The stems were too thick. I stared at them, and thought about the last time he’d seen me cry. The memory felt like acid in my veins. The sunflowers, I knew, were a lie. I turned and went to bed.