My entire life, I thought roses were red and violets were blue. Or, in any case, I didn’t think anything of it. That poem is a model we all just live by and rewrite to our own liking. Until one day, I came across a love note that changed my mind about the famous poem. “Roses are red; violets are actually violet,” the stranger wrote to his partner.
After reading thousands of love notes, this one stood out for its willingness to go against the norm and challenge our very belief system of scribing a romantic verse. In 2020, the popular flower delivery service The Bouqs Co. hired me to sort through its database of the love notes that accompany bouquets (with the senders’ permission). The goal was to create a calendar and the book All You Need Is Love (Notes). Both illuminate the infinite styles of love, from Mother’s Day appreciation to just-because romance.
It’s hard to deny the thrill and curiosity experienced when surprise florals arrive. We’ve all been there as the receiver or a curious colleague huddled around a cubicle, waiting to see the true magic: the little note holding the reason behind the gesture. These messages, at least for Bouqs customers, cap out at 100-word windows into relationships, in whatever form they may be.
The identities of the Bouqs customers were never revealed to me. Rather, the notes were sorted by order number. It didn't matter. Even with anonymous monikers, I saw glimpses into the good, the sad, and the lovely. The father who sends weekly blooms to his daughter under the guise of cartoon characters. The husband whose wife says he orders too many flowers, but he dispatches them anyway. The sons who just want to make mom smile. The friends who lift each other up during triumphant or low moments. The cat owner who writes notes to themself from their cats. And the chivalrous man evolving in their older years:
“If I weren’t an old, cranky septuagenarian, I would worship at your beautiful feet. I can’t, though, because I might not get back up. I hope it’s the thought that counts.”
At first, the notes warmed my heart. It didn’t matter how often a famous poem repeated itself from sender to sender. The mere fact that people gave and received millions of times over made the project an absolute delight. Love actually is all around, I exclaimed every time I opened the Excel trove of affection. As I scoured for months, the task wavered between thrilling and monotonous. Some people pleaded for forgiveness, while others copied and pasted cute one-liners from the web. Amid the pandemic, I couldn’t have asked for a more heartwarming job.
Then, it became sad. My relationship with my boyfriend at the time dramatically halted. We’d been together for three years, had plans to relocate to a new city together and continue on a path of roses being red. I believed we were happy because our communication never indicated things were blue. Out of that blue, he decided “a life of solitude” suited him better than growing old together. He completely blindsided me. The image of him as a sweet old man sending me flowers instead of bending down to one knee vanished.
Shocked and confused, I had 100,000 more notes to read. I spent the next couple of weeks curled up in my bed, slowly dragging the cursor from devoted partner to devoted partner, wondering what had gone wrong. These prolific declarations turned into swords to the heart. That relenting husband? Gross. The adoring son? Get out of here. The new relationship still burning with desire? Ha! Good luck with that. My eyes rolled hard at those doting partners.
I began reveling in the people sending apology ranunculus for reasons I’ll never know. (I learned 100-word missives aren’t long enough to truly reveal the why behind the sorry.) Would I ever find a partner who simply wanted me to smile with colorful blooms? The absolute torture.
Then, I stumbled across a note to self: “Just writing you this little note to say you don’t need no man to send you flowers!” And another one: “Girl, you got this. Now clean the counter so these flowers have a nice place to sit.” Little did those budding Shakespeares know that in their attempt to lift themselves from their own problems, they were also inspiring me.
In fact, those notes reminded me that one of the greatest loves in the world is self-love. These proclamations reminded me how a simple act of kindness like a thoughtful note gently tucked into a mix of hydrangea and eucalyptus can uplift — no matter whom it’s from.
Danielle Bernabe is a Los Angeles-based writer who has contributed to National Geographic, Condé Nast Traveler, Fortune, and Los Angeles magazine.
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