“The petals were the color of blood in the moonlight and remained folded in on themselves until someone approached. When they opened, they appeared incredibly delicate, as if they would shatter in the softest wind, but they grew wild and fiercely, any place there was even a hint of soil. They even grew between the cracks of stone, and they were incredibly unpredictable.” Did I really remind him of a delicate, beautiful flower? I wasn’t sure what part of me could be considered delicate. A fingernail? “How are flowers unpredictable?” “Because these were quite temperamental.”
Damn
