Tulips. Red heads, hanging as if dragged down by tiny chunks of lead. Sometimes slim petals drift away, landing in front of feet. Looking down, you see them.
Looking up, you see the drooping heads. They’ve witnessed so many, shuffling back and forth.
A girl comes next. Blue eyes, blond, braided hair. One step before the next, breathing in and out. She is holding her hand closed, clasping a object tightly.
How shall we judge others crossing our path?
The girl was never one to judge, but one day she did. Spikes of laughter drizzling over him, as he didn’t get it right. He ripped out his heart, but the petals kept raining, burying it forever.
The tulips are red. They watch the world from above, easy when their heads dip low.
They can easily judge, but that is not the way of flowers.
The girl can’t walk anymore. Every step is echoed on the marble
floor. Darkness around her, with a porch-light as her spot-light. She is tired, and so is the world that she carries in her hand. She puts it one a red petal and leaves it there for someone else