warmth + colour + uniform

the mornings are a uniform shade of fog, slow to clear from the sky.   on the corner of my desk, a potted flower droops, leached of colour.   below my feet, there's the hum of a tiny heater, glowing orange warmth.

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heart + petals + artificial

heart beats slower, drum tapering to the rhythm: petals being plucked.   one dozen flowers in a vase, artificial, a worn-out symbol.   tiny petal shreds, a guessing game played and the answer: to be told.

bouquet + glass

stained glass, uncovered by netting curtain stains the floor myriad shades.   lingering bouquet in the kitchen; stained glasses litter the countertop.   mixed flowers in glass, backdrop of blank white walls adds a touch of whimsy.

Windowsill Garden

Flash Fiction July, 1. I've learnt to tell his transgressions by the flowers that are delivered to me. Every time it happens, they're delivered without fail, on a Wednesday morning. Somehow, the courier always manages to arrive just as I'm rinsing out my breakfast dishes and collecting my gym things together. I suppose he's specified… Continue reading Windowsill Garden