Author's note: These are my Different Prose/s, I haven't checked on it yet and you might read some errors along the way and I would like to apologize for that. But, I promise to check and edit it once I'm done with my other on-going series.
Disclaim...
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Telling you a little story,
She spoke to no one, she wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes; she loves to spent hours on the riverbank - She smoked cigarettes and had midnight swims so she can avoid endless screams for pain and extremes.
The violets on her mitissimus mountain destroys all rocks and made everything in shade of black; made her believe it's better to have all sights of beauty – block. Somniating about bees waiting for flowers to bloom – how she wish flowers can still be as beauty when she's dead, inside her room.
She once believe; flowers blossom for its joy – now she knew why she cannot bloom no more, she's been destroyed. She doesn't talk about it; she loves to hide it, she loves to keep it all in tide. When flowers die they still have the chance to survive – but when she dies? There's no chance to survive.
