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I have dozens of flowers, probably a little over a hundred now, all rotting away on my balcony.  After the first few weeks, I just got tired of dealing with them, a new bouquet at least every other afternoon.  They started to make me tired, exhausting just to look at, so I stuck the flowers outside; out of sight, out of mind.  I guess since I wouldn’t return John’s calls, e-mails, or dinner requests, he began to use flowers and gifts as a new way to invade my space.  Most of the adjoining cards still remain unopened even now, all in different stages of decay, lost words hopefully disappearing along with the dried petals, being blown away together by the wind.