there's a thorn on the rose you left in a vase. it's as sharp as it looks. jabbed my finger on the prickle trimming the stem. new water, and done. there's a card i have yet to read. maybe later - i hope you will stay.
Tag: roses
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
