I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world. It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay. But on days when I forgot, I got scared. What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What would happen if she answered the door? She would find out what I was doing. I still put flowers in my window now. Now that I am safe. I just want to let people know.
UNSEEN ECHOES - Objects of Domestic Abuse | Photography Project & Exhibition

Flowers

I used to leave flowers in the window, like my own secret signal to the world.

It was a small thing, something no one would think twice about. Just a single flower in a jar, sitting on the windowsill. A daisy, a rose, whatever I could find. It didn’t matter what kind. What mattered was that it was there.

It felt comforting, like a silent message saying I was okay.

No one ever told me to do it. It wasn’t some agreed-upon code. But in my mind, it became one. A quiet reassurance to anyone who might be watching, anyone who might care.

But on days when I forgot, I got scared.

What if someone noticed the missing flowers and came looking? What if they knocked on the door? What if she answered?

She would find out what I was doing.

And I knew what happened when she found out things.

So I made sure to always place them there, even on the worst days, even when I could barely move from the exhaustion of existing under her roof. Even when my hands shook, and my body ached, I found a way.

Because the flowers meant I was still here.

Still holding on.

Still surviving.

I still put flowers in my window now.

Now that I am safe.

Not because I need to. Not because I’m afraid anymore.

I do it because I want to. Because I remember what it meant back then, how it made me feel less alone.

And maybe, just maybe, someone else will see them.

And they’ll know.

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