Losing A Forbidden Flower Page

To lose a forbidden flower is to grieve in a vacuum. You cannot speak the eulogy aloud. You cannot post the black square. You cannot explain to your coworkers why your eyes are red. You are left with the harshest burden of all: missing someone you were never supposed to have. Before we discuss the loss, we must understand the nature of the flower itself.

You remember the hotel lobby. The way the light hit their shoulder. The text that said, "I’m thinking of you, against all logic." Losing A Forbidden Flower

Consider the queer person raised in a fundamentalist home. They lose the teenage love they never got to have. The flower here is authenticity. Consider the artist who became a lawyer to please their parents. They lose the painting they never finished. Consider the woman who wanted to be child-free but succumbed to societal pressure. She loses the quiet mornings she will never know. To lose a forbidden flower is to grieve in a vacuum

The phrase "Losing A Forbidden Flower" conjures a specific, aching paradox. It describes the grief of losing someone or something that existed outside the boundaries of acceptable love. It could be an extramarital affair, a cross-generational connection, a relationship deemed taboo by culture or creed, or even a version of yourself that you were told to repress. You cannot explain to your coworkers why your eyes are red

Who do you call?

In this stage, you gaslight yourself. "Maybe it wasn't forbidden. Maybe we could have made it work." You obsess over the "what ifs" as if you are solving a math problem. What if you had left your spouse a year earlier? What if you had met in another lifetime?