October 11, 2o16

“The man brought me a bouquet of flowers. They were pink and yellow and purple. I carried the bouquet around the house, holding it just beneath my chin so that I could ingest the smell. When I did not carry them, the bouquet went on the table beside my plate or on the couch cushion to the left of where I sat or on my night table. The flowers were good for a week, then began weakening. The flowers sagged and the edges cracked. The colors browned. The floral scent became astringent…”

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