When you bought me flowers
every petal felt like a debt,
a heavy weight in a fragile vase.

Sunflowers, because they were yellow
I said they were my favorite like the color—
perhaps just to comply, to appease.

But truly, I like roses
in all their simplicity,
no hidden promises.

Will a bouquet ever feel the same
or are all flowers
just silent obligations?

I shy from kindness offered too quickly
wondering what it's meant to buy.