Sunday, March 10, 2013

Withered


He looks down at his feet, at the one withered flower. Picking it up, he exchanges it for the one that he brought with him.

"I'm sorry no one else comes, it's just that, no one else knows."

He continues on with the highlights of his week, and just like the weeks past he ends it the same way.

"They won't catch me. I'll be back next week. I promise."

2 comments:

  1. You should write a book one day. Or make one with a ton of short poems and haikus.

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    Replies
    1. That's one of my dreams... publish it with pictures of my own taking. (:

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