"Shall I string the marigolds and jasmines separately?"Having handled yellowing minds and probing the insides of the darkest folds of the dreams, this question startled her.
"No. String them together." She liked that yellow but it moved her into a state of lost loves and anticipated lusts which stringed together with affection and fondness. Why does religion and world cherry-pick lust and condemn it? It is a strong emotion nevertheless . . .
But why this sudden fondness for yellow, she asked herself.
"But why? The jasmines will not even be visible when you string it along with the marigolds."
"I like the marigolds to be seen and the jasmines to be smelt. Almost like pain and passion. Conceal the pain and show the passion." But isn't pain a passion too?
The yellow. Why did I choose the yellow of the marigold. Was it that song I heard last week. No. It is something else. Why can't I remember that yellow. Yellow . . . yellow . . .
Yes, now I remember. The yellow of the post-its. The post-its he was sticking all over the subway wall. In a frenzied madness he was writing something on them and stuck them all over that white wall. He decorated that blank wall and left. Waiting for him to go, I sauntered to the wall and read each one of them. I felt I knew what was in them. Why did I have to know that? Why so curious and restless. Why do we always connect like this to unknown emotions and unread post-its. Why didn't I let go of the desire to read them?
The first one: I don't deserve your love. I want freedom
The Second one: How can you love me though you know I don't love you as much as you do
The Third one: You are sick. Your love is sick. Leave me. Let me go
The fourth one: After all that I did to you, why are you still there. Go.
The fifth one: BLANK
The yellow of those post-its on the subway wall. I wonder why he said all those personal things in those post-its in a public place. Why did he choose not to love her. Did he really want freedom or did he yearn for more than that. There was music that was playing aloud in his pocket. It was a haunting tune. Yes, yes, the same one which left me morose on a December night. The date. Yes. It was after Christmas. The 29th night where the night was just giving way to the 30th. Eric Satie's Gnossienne No. 5.
"The flowers are all done. Just as you said. The marigolds and the jasmines together."
Yellow. Yellow. Marigolds and post-its.
Gnossienne No. 5 plays on.