November 3.
One time, I found you there again, by that bench. You had your sketchbook out as you did sometimes. Instead of drawing the clouds, though, a person is what you chose. You said it was me. And you drew a flower next to the person as well. You said that was you.
There was a flower that was growing out of one of the many cracks in the old sidewalk. "It's a clover flower," you told me.
It was serendipitous, to me. Because after that, I called you my lucky clover.
