She Loves Me Not

I have become curious over the impenetrable flower. You may stare down this unbudging bloom for weeks. It will do no good. I have spent costly well water on my specimen. Only the gentle sunlight of a rising and setting sun was her food. High noon was too much of an oven. The rotted head of a fish was plunged to the dirt for mineral sake. Stooping to the lowest superstition was not foreign to my practice. I both sang and spoke to the fledgling sprout to tease the sympathy of heaven. Perhaps a listening consciousness would reach out the hand and receive my overture. I protected her from anything that radiated unkind levels of discordant noise. She was bathed in golden harmonics, but did not open for me. Could I cheat her stalled progression with a butter knife? It was a seamless bulb with no proof of ever having come from a seed. Her dimensions made me suspect a laboratory. A stem that straight? A leaf no bug would settle upon? Diligent care is all she knew. I misted her with grape juice to stimulate something, anything! Exactly what, I do not know. She remained the advertisement of a fool's promise. My mind became so twisted that I rotated the location of her pot for fear she might grow bored! Fanning her to imitate an east wind seemed silly, but I did it. I even attached tiny weights about her to create resistance. Nothing was spared. It was at this impasse that I grew weary unto wickedness. So enraged, I spat upon her mocking stillness. Then I made the slowest walk to my refrigerator. My spite quivered as I wrapped my fingers around a cold diet soda. The walk back to her was even slower. Pushing down on the silver tab let out trapped carbonation with a hiss. I proceeded to dump all twelve ounces into the pot hoping its caustic bite would eat up her roots. With swirling anger and sorrow, there was nothing left to do but to retire for the night. When morning came, I lamented my rash decision. Immaturity never truly leaves a man. Dashing to the flower I saw paradise open her mouth if only but ajar. Beauty is nothing without something to be beautiful against.