To have and have not.
She sat cross-legged in the grasses, before a marsh, pulling the petals from a daisy whose
two remaining limbs outstretched like arms spread wide for a hug…
Did he love her or, more likely, did he love her not.
She spun the stem, envisioning it as she once was: a blooming ballerina caught up in a
sequence of perfect pirouettes.
The white blades spinning into a pinwheel propeller blur, lifting her off into what she
hoped was the furthest corners of his mind, if just there and not his mouth.
She could see her name, wet with spit, on his lips, laying under every word he rolled over
her, and she wanted to stay there.
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