“What do you think?”
She twirled not-so-gracefully in front of me, knee hitting the coffee table. A giggle, and she insisted she was fine. With a delicate flick of the wrist, she smoothed her white dress over the potential bruise, while bells on her green flats chimed daintily.

I couldn’t get over the hat. Red and green. A Christmas present.

My thoughts were too loud. For while I was intrigued by her appearance, she had kept talking. And talking. Then she yelled. And I guess she had been yelling for awhile, because her face had turned a fierce shade of red. Blonde hair swirled around her face, defying gravity.

My words were never enough. Yet hers were everything. They were reasons for a fight, for a kiss, for a goodbye. I couldn’t find that eloquency. That skill of turning a few syllables to bullets or daisies.

And flowers would come later. After I would apologize, she’d sit with her large violet flower, letting it calm her soul. Staring into it’s yellow center, it would speak the truth for her.

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