Paper Flowers

She stepped through the door and stomped her feet on the rug below her to rustle the snow free of her brown leather boots. The aroma emanating from the crockpot filled the beige furnished room, drawing her ever closer to the ceramic cooker. She had planned this out thoroughly, leaving twenty minutes on the timer, just enough for her to get out of her work clothes and into something more comfortable.

Her color was a soothing shade of pale yellow.

As she walked down the bare hallway, she opened the wooden brown bedroom door, twisting the aged door handle as she pushed it open. The four walled comfort zone was the polar opposite of the corridor that she had just ventured through. Rather than naked walls that craved the slightest memory to grace a frame, this room was populated with moments she would never let go of. Photos of beach vacations and friends from the past and present, along with keepsakes from ordinary nights that she blindly expected more of lined these walls.

The room was a bit of a mess, but she liked it this way. She believed in the organization of disorganization, something that she felt many people just didn’t get. Why spend hours searching something that can be easily found with a quick scan of the room? Her logic and ability to think outside of the box was an attribute that she prided herself on.

She sat down on the bed and reached for the silky red pajamas that she wore the night before, kicking her boots off at the same time. Tossing her black work pants and shirt aside on the floor next to her bed, she slipped the bottoms on, and then the matching top. Falling back on the bed and sprawling her arms out across it, she stared up at the ceiling, trying to break away from everything running through her mind. She let out a sigh that came from the pits of her soul, a sigh that actually felt like it accomplished something. Just as she began to feel herself winding down, the crock pot alerted her to the timer hitting triple zero.

Her color was red.

Walking down the hallway, she again was met by the sweet smell of slow cooked chicken, that was marinating in a mixture of Italian dressing, basil, and a vast assortment of vegetables to give it that extra punch. Her color slid down the deeper part of the scale, and now resembled more of a pastel red than what could previously be described as fire truck red. As she removed the lid from the crock pot and placed it on the island where it rested, she grabbed a spoon from the wooden drawer for a quick taste test. As soon as the broth met her taste buds, she smiled and congratulated herself on the delectable concoction.

Her color was neon pink.

She decided that it would be best to take a shower then eat, instead of eating and then taking a shower. Her work days were long and emotionally strenuous, especially for someone who was discovering just how challenging it was to fix themselves. She had come a long way and acknowledged this fact, but didn’t feel as if she should be proud of it yet. There was still a lot of work to be done, and for the first time in her life, was confident enough to welcome to obstacles ahead of her. Life had chewed her up and spit her out, but she looked her demons in the eye and slayed them as they came. One by one, they had fallen like dominoes. She was a conqueror and a ruthless champion of her flaws, wearing each scar like a badge of honor. Even the ones she felt that she didn’t deserve.

Often times she felt like a forest fire, something that should be admired from a distance. Resisting anyone who got too close for fear of burning them with the slightest touch was quite the burden to carry, but her shoulders were stronger than pillars at a court house. She was in a weird place when it came to how she viewed herself. She knew the person that she wanted to be, the person that she could be, but this anchor of fear weighed her down from chasing what she really wanted out of life.

She knew she was gorgeous, but would never act like she was. She knew that she was the smartest person in the room, wherever she may be, but would never act like she was. All of the pain that she had been through, the loneliness and the crushing pain of sadness, acted like an impenetrable force field built by a mad genius. Her barriers were as tough to break through as a prison wall, but all she yearned for was someone that genuinely wanted to. She wanted somebody who wouldn’t leave, or ever hurt her, and if they did, to not only say that they were sorry, but to show her that they meant it.

Her shoulder length brown hair brought out the most in her matching eyes. She had a beauty mark, in the purest sense of the term, right above her lip on the left side of her face. Having been told so many times just how pretty she was had lost it’s luster, especially when she knew that most of the people saying it were as empty as their words.

Her color was peach.

Stepping back into her room, she walked over a desk that featured various statues and knick knacks. A golden unicorn rested at the edge of the desk, towards the top right corner. As she reached inside a drawer, she pulled out a see through freezer bag full of paper flowers, with colors ranging from orange to red to angelic white. The flowers were obviously done with tremendous care, and were certainly a therapeutic escape from everything that came along with existing.

She gently laid them all on the desk and spread them out on top of a dozen sheets of intact pastel paper. Scooting over a black computer chair, she rolled it over to the desk and sat down. As she pulled herself up the table, she began to fold a dark green piece of pastel paper, molding it into a flower almost as beautiful as herself.

Her color was royal purple.