The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:19:12 -

The Wistful Petal

The bus smelled of wet wool and ozone. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Thursday; time had become a slippery, viscous substance in this place, difficult to grasp. I held the ceramic vase in my lap. It was a simple thing, white clay, glazed with a thin coat of clear varnish. Inside, there was no water, no flowers, only a single, dried wisteria petal, curled like a dead finger. My mother had given...

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