Sanctitude

Jasmine wondered why she always did this to herself. When would she learn? She'd get into the flow of being a decent human being; actually get dressed for the brand new day, clean regularly, be able to breathe. And then it's like she ceased to exist--something inside her certainly seemed to. And when she was resuscitated, she was stupified at all the time lost; revolted at all the opportunities missed, the disarray left in its wake. She mourned for all breaths devoured but untasted, the laughs never born, songs unsung. As if making up for lost time, an old favourite popped into her head so she sang as she washed her favourite mug; her greedy cup, with its huge red heart and the words "I love you" written in pretty font. The cute little white and grey cup came next. Smiling at the inspirational message--the reason he bought it for her, she thought about the Alaskan Wood Frog, how winter killed it. And how, as soon as winter disappeared, spring brought it back to life. Maybe it wouldn't have minded not dying every other season, but that was part of its existence, what made it. The wind blew the lovely scent of orange blossoms her way and she thought about how the bitter ones propagated the headiest perfume. She wondered if its calming attributes could materialize in form, as well. Washing the round, blue bowl that she didn't return made her heart ache a bit. It was probably high time the place got spring-cleaned; maybe she'd finally try that trick of wiping the fridge with vanilla essence, so the kitchen smelled like a bakery every time it was opened. Looking at her reflection in the windows, she sniffed at the thought of her body devolving from hourglass to pear. She supposed it wasn't so bad really, it could've been worse. Pears were deceptively wonderful, if you thought about it. Yes, they were squat and drab, not likely to appeal by sight alone; but they taste simply divine, lush and juicy. Maybe she should plant a pear tree next.