Every spring I get this incredible urge, it lasts throughout the summer. It borders on obsession really, if I don’t satiate my desire it overwhelms me. Every year I tell myself, not again, but when the spring zephyrs begin to blow, I find myself searching for them.
I suppose I should call them what they really are, I have come to a place of acceptance with what I do. Victims. They are victims, innocent and unworthy of their fate, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot help but seek them out in an effort to fulfill this secret fantasy of mine.
I guess you could say I stalk them at first. Once I find one I think would be perfect, I admire from afar, building up the courage to take what I should not be taking. No one ever suspects, I don’t look like the type to be engaging in something so unseemly, it only makes it easier to walk away with my prey. Usually it’s just one at a time, but every once in a while I end up with more. It’s easier to do what needs to be done with just one at a time.
Last summer I went crazy for a week and ended up bringing one home every day, it was too much to deal with, they expired quickly. This year, I have so far resisted, my husband intervened after I was
caught dumping my last failure, his disappointment in me was heartbreaking. He stuck by me though. That man is a rock.
I’m not sure I can hold out much longer. My desire has become a need, a thirst begging to be quenched, a hunger screaming to be satiated. I think today is the day. There is no one around to stop me. All I want to do is nurture and protect, I convince myself I’m rescuing them but in the end, they all end up dying, buried beneath the damp earth in my yard.
I remember every one of them, how beautiful they were before I stole away with their life. I miss them, I just can’t help but think the next one will be different, I will be different and we will be happy together, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.
If I could find
an accomplice, a partner who would not judge me or interfere, maybe it would be easier. I can’t ask my husband and involving my children is out of the question. I should go to the authorities and just turn myself in, I just want to try one more time before I take that step. I have to believe I can make this work.
This may be a silly question, but . . . What kind of fertilizer do you use? Do you water in the morning or the evening? Potted or in the ground? Is there some special type of soil I should be using? Help me. Please, help me before I go to Home Depot and find more helplessly, beautiful flowers to kill again this year.
Don’t judge me. I try.
Crystal R. Cook