Spring turns into autumn
I already smell gardenias, though it is too early for them. It is an out of season sweetness made more pungent by the fact that the world became a colder and hopeless place this week.
I had found a fragment of hope on the sidewalk, tiny and shiny like a penny. So precious to me, so frail and delicate that I wouldn't trust it to anyone else. But it fell from my pocket unnoticed, and I was left like a kid gazing longingly through a window at the most impossible toy in the world.
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