(this is annie)


the odor of pinks

There were butterflies everywhere, gently waving their wings. I stood at the water's edge, shards of glass pressing into my feet. A boat had charged into the rocks, and it had overturned, and the occasional passersby merely remarked on the unusual sight—Oh, isn't that strange. Yes, I suppose so—and continued on their way, not indifferent for only a moment.

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