On cosy evenings, the second the brain sniffs the petrichor, sometimes now and sometimes forever, memories drizzle down on my brain and revive your flowers.
They are beautiful; you should come and see them. See these beautiful bloody roses; their roots are deeply seeded in my heart, and it aches from head to heart as their thorns are sucking the blood of my branches.
If the rain stays, I will grow a flower out of every thorn for you. And, when you will arrive, I will open the heart and mind of my garden to let you walk leisurely in this lovely, painful garden I nurtured for you.
A flower on the top of the thorn. A flower on the top of the thorn. And, a thorn beneath the top flower. @furqanahmed