I thought, I was caught in a flower.
Her fragrance permeated my ordinary life for the first twenty years, and it has always been there for the next few decades.
Oh, maybe I caught her branch first?
It doesn't matter anymore, after all, I don't even have time to dry her.
If I had known she would wither so quickly, I shouldn't have set foot in the garden in the first place.
But now I have a whole garden.
Well, it looks like I still have a lot to do.
A short story inspired by "The Long Goodbye" and "Wuthering Heights", a lyrical clumsiness.
Intention: I had known that this would trip people up, how could I not have known each other before?