discarded.

The deodorant I recently bought smells like Yosemite.  Or, wait… no, it smells like the kind I wore in Yosemite.  Either way, it brings me back almost every time I put it on.

Also, I saw a discarded bouquet this morning.  It brought me back.  Again, to Yosemite.

One day I came back to my tent to find a bouquet of flowers on my porch.  Weird.  But exciting.  I walked inside, my roommate was sitting on her bed and I asked her…

– Did your boyfriend leave you these flowers?

– No.  Definitely not.  Pretty sure they’re for you.

– Who would give me flowers?

– I dunno.

And the mystery continued.  I asked all my friends.

– Hey, seriously, did you guys put these on my doorstep as a joke?

No one did, they swore.

So, I figured it was a mistake.  Someone got the tent wrong.  Poor girl missin’ out on flowers and poor boy botching the swooning.

Luscious life in Yosemite continued.  We had a Dead Poets Society night.  We all sat around the fire and read our favorite poems, our own poems, song lyrics, beautifulness.

Then it was Andrew Castle’s turn.

Andrew was a tall, gangly, red-headed boy who’s mystery knew no bounds.  His dance moves were amazing and his climbing was worthy of awe.

Andrew didn’t have a piece of paper to read off of, no journal, no book… He just started reciting, almost rapping, the most amazing poem I’d ever heard.  And he kept going… and going!  Rhyming about life and love and heartbreak and food and dancing and silliness and seriousness.  It was amazing.  Jaws dropped.  We’d clap with no control, hoot and holler in smiling amazement.  It was awesome.

No one wanted to follow.  We played music and sang the rest of the night.

The next day, in the kitchen, Andrew was there.

– Hey, awesome job last night!  I did not know you were so talented.

– Oh, thanks.  Yeah, it’s just something I enjoy.

– Well, we all enjoyed it.  Strong work.

– Thanks.  Hey, did you like your flowers?

– What?

– Those flowers I left for you.  Someone discarded them at a wedding I worked at last week.  They were pretty.  They reminded me of you.

– Oh, wow.  Thanks.  I love them.

– We should hang out sometime.  I like your style, Rachel Stevens.

I like your style, Rachel Stevens.

Ha.  I had never had anyone be so brave, so forward.

I didn’t know what to say.  I was taken so off guard.

And of course I didn’t hang out with him.  Of course I have to make life/love more difficult for myself.  Won’t take a risk with the off-the-wall spoken word poet who “likes [my] style”.  No, I have to fall for the boys who steal my Billy Collins books and then tell me they won’t love me.  What fun would life be if I didn’t make love difficult?  Oh, wait… Probably a lot of fun.

Though, Andrew Castle did get busted for acid and kicked outta the park.  So, that probably wouldn’t have been fun.

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