Today’s post is inspired by two pictures. I was wondering what to write on the picture I took in Westmead when I came across Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers and tang!! an idea was born 🙂
I used to walk past it every evening. Never was there a day when I hadn’t felt a pinch in my heart. Those bright beautiful flowers would somehow make me sink in deep abyss of emptiness.
I had watched her too, changing the bouquet every once in a while, gently tying them to the pole. The dent on the wall was still visible. She would sometimes sit there, long after sundown.
It’s been months since the flowers have dried. She was gone too. The wind has blown away the copper petals and now, all that remains is a withered stem.