Flower by Thimblerig
12 Mar 2017
“I have depths,” Ana mourned, shaking one wrist where the loose sleeve of her merino sweater had slipped too far down and was getting in the way. The groceries, bereft of support, sagged dangerously. “Unexpected depths, shadowy depths, depths of great dolour. But I do not feel poetic. I feel… I see his face and I get all…” She sighed, pained.