bright shell
Monday-
The flowers died on Monday.
They shriveled up gray and wilted, frail and insignificant, deaf to all in the world.
But I still remember Sunday.
Sunday the flowers were teasing the line between life and death. Playfully clinging on by a thread.
Yet the flowers died on Monday.
But I still remember Saturday.
Saturday the flowers were enjoying life, basking in the sunbeams that slipped through the window.
Yet the flowers died on Monday.
But I still remember Friday.
Friday the flowers were blowing in the breeze, cheerfully wandering through childhood, blissfully innocent and youthful.
Yet the flowers died on Monday.
And yes, the flowers died on Monday.
But I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.
Maybe, I simply couldn’t handle another loss.
-LGR
wispy pewter