eva,15; isn't it ironic how we kill flowers because we think they are beautiful. //
“What’s that?” she says hoarsely. Damp edges of her hair form little spikes over her forehead.
“I made it for you. Something to put in your drawer.” I place it in her hands. "Smell it.”
She lifts the bundle to her nose and takes a tentative sniff. “Smells like home.” Tears flood her eyes.
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