how did we become strangers (ii)Mature

My mother told me that people are like sand in our fingers, she said, you can’t make them stay, but I never believed her.  After all, I’d made her stay a hundred times before I turned thirteen; I made reruns of the people I loved and I kept them close and I didn’t let them stray very far.  I gathered hearts like trinkets and I kept them locked away but I never learned that hearts are like flowers and they need water and light, they need fresh air and dark soil.  I was trying to grow mushrooms from the bloody pulp that kept them alive, I was wishing they were daisies.

The End

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