(no subject)
It was like another small death, letting go all over again, when I went through the flowers. I saved the live ones and put them in water. I saved some that had dried perfectly. I planned to snip off the buds from one flower to save in my little stash of treasures, to represent my grandfather. When they were thrown out today while I was away from the house, and I came back to see them gone, it was another small part of letting go.
So I'm sitting here crying over tiny little dead flowers, and wishing I could have them back. Wishing I could have back any small part of the man that was.
So I'm sitting here crying over tiny little dead flowers, and wishing I could have them back. Wishing I could have back any small part of the man that was.