the flower shop girl

"i suppose," she began tentatively, "i suppose it's because i never knew."
the monk was careful not to interrupt; he was sensitive to such moments, like when a blossom was just about to unfold, and how important it was not to speak, or even breathe. he watched her face carefully, staring at the late afternoon light reflecting white off the wet pavement.
"all this time, i've tended these flowers, taking such pride in their health and appearance, even though i knew they were temporary- symbolic gestures, really- and even though i knew they were always for someone else, some other woman who was finding happiness. i did this with simple contentment for years now, without the faintest sense of wilt or dissatisfaction- or jealousy- within me. this was my role, and it was my obligation, my duty, to fulfill it. there was nothing else."
she shifts her weight somewhat, but her eyes remain on the light off the slick concrete. "and yes, i admit, at times, i felt myself above it all. there's a certain- powerfulness? at being able to do your job, without being tossed about by your feelings. especially when you are dealing with, and working for, those who are practically drowning in emotions. 'falling' in love. such silly children." she laughs briefly, her voice slightly breaking, her eyes taking on a reflective shean. "but i never knew. i never knew."