Monday, May 6, 2013

The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh

"I wanted more than anything to be that girl, to be a child again and carry crocus or hawthorn or larkspur instead of buckets of thistle.  I wanted to search the North Bay until I found Elizabeth, and apologize, and beg forgiveness.  I wanted to start my life over, on a course that would not lead me to this moment, this waking up alone in a city park, my own daughter alone in an empty apartment building.  Every decision I'd ever made had led me here, and I wanted to take it all back, the hatred and the blame and the violence.  I wanted to have lunch with my angry ten-year-old self to warn her of this morning and give her the flowers to point her in a different direction."

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