It is suddenly beautiful outside again, and there are petunias. I love petunias. I have two memories about petunias. I love sharing memories/inconsequential and pointless stories that matter to no one but me.
1. When we lived on the mountain, the deck was covered with plants. My favorites as a little girl were the petunias. My mom used to pick them and put them behind my ears. I followed suit. Now we don't have petunias anymore.
2. The second time I took psychedelics, we were running around campus like children. When my friend started to come down, she was petting some petunias, crying about how beautiful everything was and how "this is such perfect fun" and how she didn't want it to end. I tried to convince her that everything is beautiful all the time, especially the petunias. You can always pet the petunias.
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