BELOVEDS, YOU CAN HAVE MY FLOWERS. I DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE.

BELOVEDS, YOU CAN HAVE MY FLOWERS. I DON’T NEED THEM ANYMORE.

❣️💟💕💞💓💗💛🧡🖤💙💚🤍🩶🤎💜❤️❤️‍🩹💖💝💘💘🧩🧸

Beloveds,

You can have MY flowers.

I don’t need them anymore.

🌹🌷🌻

No, really.

Take them.

Take every last one.

Give them to somebody who can smell them.

Give them to somebody who can hold them.

Give them to somebody who needs to know today that somebody thought about them.

Give them to somebody who has been sitting quietly wondering whether anybody sees them.

Give them to somebody who is still here.

❤️

Because I’ve been thinking about flowers.

We give so many of them when somebody dies.

Beautiful arrangements.

Lilies.

Roses.

Cards.

Ribbons.

Rooms filled with color.

People stand beside somebody who can no longer hear them and say some of the most beautiful things they have ever said about that person.

She was wonderful.

He changed my life.

She always made me laugh.

He was there when nobody else was.

I wish I had told her.

I hope he knew.

And Beloveds—

sometimes I want to ask:

Did we tell them while they were here?

👀

Not as condemnation.

Not as guilt.

Because life gets busy.

People get tired.

Relationships get complicated.

Sometimes we assume there will be another opportunity.

Another phone call.

Another Christmas.

Another Tuesday.

Another March.

❤️‍🩹

I know something about March.

That’s why I’m not interested in shaming anybody for what they didn’t know yesterday.

I’m interested in what we can do today.

And today—

somebody is still here.

🌎

So you can have my flowers.

Give mine away early.

Give them before anybody has to stand at a microphone and explain what somebody meant.

Give them before the obituary.

Before the memorial.

Before everybody suddenly remembers the nicest thing they ever thought about somebody.

If you love somebody—

tell them.

If somebody changed your life—

tell them.

If somebody helped you survive something—

tell them.

If somebody makes this ridiculous world a little easier for you to live in—

tell them.

And don’t only tell the people everybody expects you to tell.

Tell the teacher.

Tell the nurse.

Tell the neighbor.

Tell the friend who answered at 2:00 in the morning.

Tell the person who made you laugh on the day you thought laughter had left you.

Tell the person who quietly made room.

Tell the person who pulled up another chair.

🪑🪑

Tell somebody:

You mattered to me today.

Because flowers don’t have to be flowers.

👀

Maybe somebody’s flowers are:

a phone call.

A sandwich.

A ride.

A handwritten note.

An hour without looking at your phone.

A ridiculous meme.

A prayer.

A meal.

A hug.

An apology.

A boundary respected.

A name remembered.

A seat saved.

A door held open.

A message that simply says:

I thought about you.

💐

Maybe flowers are attention.

Maybe flowers are presence.

Maybe flowers are seeing somebody while they’re still standing in front of you.

And maybe that’s why I don’t need mine anymore.

Because I’ve been getting mine.

❤️

Not necessarily roses.

Not necessarily bouquets.

I’ve received love.

I’ve received kindness.

I’ve received people sitting beside me.

I’ve received laughter.

I’ve received prayers.

I’ve received people who stayed.

I’ve received people who saw me.

I’ve received people who let me be loud.

I’ve received people who let me be quiet.

I’ve received people who loved me when I was strong.

I’ve received people who loved me when strong wasn’t available.

I’ve received flowers that never grew from soil.

💝

And Beloveds—

that’s enough.

So if someday somebody thinks:

I wish I could give Cassandra flowers…

Nah, fam.

Find somebody living.

🌎

Give them mine.

Take that bouquet somewhere else.

Walk into a nursing home.

Visit somebody nobody visits.

Thank somebody who thinks nobody noticed.

Call somebody you’ve been meaning to call.

Tell your sister.

Tell your brother.

Tell your friend.

Tell your Wombie.

Tell somebody who has been carrying everybody else.

Tell somebody whose name rarely gets called unless somebody needs something.

Tell somebody:

I see you.

👀❤️

And don’t wait until they’re extraordinary.

Don’t wait until they accomplish something enormous.

Don’t wait until they survive something terrible.

Don’t wait until the whole world applauds them.

Don’t wait until they’re gone.

Love ordinary people on ordinary Tuesdays.

That’s where life actually happens.

❤️

Maybe we’ve confused flowers with reward.

You don’t have to earn tenderness.

You don’t need a tragedy before somebody checks on you.

You don’t need an accomplishment before somebody celebrates you.

You don’t need to almost disappear before somebody finally notices you’re here.

Beloved—

being here is enough.

😭❤️‍🩹

That’s one of the things I want us to learn together.

Give people their humanity before their obituary.

Give people their tenderness before their memorial.

Give people their gratitude before their tribute.

Give people their attention before their absence teaches you to pay attention.

And when somebody gives you flowers—

literal or otherwise—

receive them.

Don’t immediately explain why you don’t deserve them.

Don’t swat love away because receiving makes you uncomfortable.

Don’t make somebody argue you into believing you matter.

Sometimes the assignment is not giving.

Sometimes the assignment is:

open your hands.

💐🤲🏿

Receive.

Then when your hands are full—

give some away.

❤️➡️❤️

That’s how love moves.

Not because anybody owes us.

Not because kindness is a transaction.

Not because I loved you, therefore you must love me exactly the way I demand.

No.

Love moves because love has somewhere to go.

We talked about that already.

Love still has somewhere to go.

🌎

And I want mine moving.

Don’t pile it around me someday.

Move it.

Take whatever love you were going to save for later and spend some of it while somebody can still receive it.

Spend it recklessly on kindness.

Spend it wisely on presence.

Spend it courageously on telling the truth.

Spend it gently on somebody grieving.

Spend it quietly on somebody who doesn’t need an audience.

Spend it across lines somebody told you shouldn’t be crossed.

Race.

Country.

Language.

Age.

Ability.

Religion.

No religion.

Whatever.

Human being.

Start there.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤎🤍🩶

And yes, boundaries still matter.

Love does not require returning somewhere unsafe.

Love does not require allowing somebody to harm you.

Love does not mean disappearing yourself.

Sometimes the flower is kindness.

Sometimes the flower is forgiveness.

Sometimes the flower is distance.

Sometimes the flower is:

I love you, and I cannot stay here.

Love doesn’t have to lie in order to call itself love.

❤️‍🩹

But wherever love can safely go—

send it.

Because there is somebody alive right now who thinks nobody notices.

Somebody who believes they are too much.

Somebody who believes they are not enough.

Somebody sitting alone.

Somebody grieving.

Somebody scared.

Somebody laughing loudly because joy finally came back.

Somebody starting over.

Somebody barely holding on to hope.

Somebody who doesn’t need your solution.

They might just need another human being to say:

Your life matters to me.

💝

That’s the flower.

Not the rose.

Not the ribbon.

Not the arrangement.

The knowing.

Knowing somebody saw you.

Knowing somebody remembered.

Knowing somebody was glad you existed.

Knowing somebody made room.

Knowing somebody didn’t require you to become somebody else before they loved you.

Knowing there was another chair.

🪑🪑

Beloveds,

that’s what I want.

Not more flowers around death.

More flowers around life.

🌻🌎❤️

Flowers at breakfast.

Flowers on random Wednesdays.

Flowers because somebody made it through Tuesday.

Flowers because somebody tried again.

Flowers because somebody finally rested.

Flowers because somebody spoke.

Flowers because somebody survived.

Flowers because somebody laughed.

Flowers because somebody simply woke up this morning and is still here.

No occasion required.

You are the occasion.

👀❤️‍🔥

And maybe somebody reading this has been waiting for their flowers.

Come here.

🪑

I see you.

I may not know your name.

I may never know your story.

But you’re here.

And for this little moment, we’re sharing the same world.

🌎

So take one of mine.

🌹

Actually—

take the whole bouquet.

💐

I don’t need to hoard love to know I was loved.

I don’t need every flower with my name on it.

I would rather know somebody received one in time.

While they could smell it.

While they could smile.

While they could roll their eyes and say, “What is THIS for?”

While they could put it in some ridiculous vase that doesn’t match anything.

While they could text somebody a picture.

While they could know:

Somebody thought of me today.

🥰

That’s enough for me.

So Beloveds—

you can have MY flowers.

Give them away.

Give them now.

Give them while somebody can receive them.

And when somebody hands you yours—

take them.

💐❤️

We are still here.

Our job is still not done.

Love still has somewhere to go.

So let’s send it.

One person.

One kindness.

One flower.

One step.

One step.

One step.

🌎❤️‍🔥

You are loved.

You are NOT alone.

Keep on being…YOU!

Asking for A Friend,
Cassandra

#YourLifeMattersToMe