Why do you keep bringing home flowers? They’re going to die anyway.

But Grandma, they’re going to live anyway. They’re going to bring color to our home and look at these carnations and peonies and look at how they add this much drama! Is it hard to believe? Is it hard to see? We have the same eyes, don’t we?

The chiding gets lost in the noise. The cavernous petals against the wooden cabinet. A distant patter of harp glimmering through the amber lowlights. The moss green painting jutting out from the Stucco walls.

What beauty do you see in them? Is it really that pretty to you?

It’s not much. You treat them delicately anyway when I bring them home. We see the same beauty in them.

You should bring home something more permanent if we’re going to decorate the place. I despise taking care of these things if they keep dying!

But Grandma, when cities and dreams and people crumble, flowers will bloom anyway.