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Bruised Roses

I loved him already.  Sitting in front of my grandmother’s old house, a new family in the window.  I steal a rose from their front porch.  They were hers—the roses.  They could live there for a hundred years and still the roses would be hers.  And mine.  And his.  I press the rose up to […]

Bruised Roses

Categories: Uncategorized

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