“The little pink skeleton was small and cold and its flowers were made of four circles with a stem, like one doodles on paper when they don’t know how to make a distinguishable flower, like a rose or an iris. The brushed pink and blotted, purple flowers have never cracked or peeled except for a tiny chip along the top slit where my movie ticket stubs have been crammed through. The brush strokes are obvious, still permeated through the hardened clay of hollowed insides, filled with memories of my little escapes into happy endings and perfect families that I have seen on the big screen.”
