Two days after Boy and I break up (“take a break”), T tells me about she had about he and I, where he is giving me a purple flower and I keep pushing it further and further down into the farther in an attempt to drown or hide it. It is my last day at the farm when I get this message and amidst tall stalks and life running through the dirt and people I will not see again for about a year—months if I’m lucky—I have a revelation that feels like it has been shot in the middle, an epiphany with a gaping hole.

I walk home to get Ibuprofen for someone. I pass the lot that I see every day with my group, filled with lilac wildflowers that I am always tempted to pick. Now, they seem to taunt me. “Understand us,” they say. “Question yourself. Question your future.”

I pick one, finally. There is instant gratification, and then suddenly, it falls away to reveal the lingering doubt. Even in my hands, I do not understand this flower. I do not understand this boy because I do not understand my understanding of this boy. I am told to trust in myself, always, but I am the one who leads myself to the ledge before the abyss.

I reach the corner right before home. The flower has dropped off of its stem without my recognition. I let the rest of it fall.