I sat here on my penny-worth chair at my balcony for a 'little-alone' time. My sight is blurring......It is smoggy all around. I am no more sitting, I am just laying there, as if burned down. Ouch...............my fingers scorch. I hurl my hand with sluggish reflex, and one more fire bud flies to the bunch of others in the trash. The fire buds are still alive, including the last one that flew from my hand. The fire buds speak of the anger in me; Each fire bud reminds of a flower rejected by one of them to whom I did not have the courage to propose. And they lay there...............withered.........and reddened.
The last one that flew was for her.
Will that bud ever die ?
It will tell her that I am still waiting, still looking for her !!!
I can see the smog now, clearly. The smog is smoke, and I lay in my chair as if I have been shot in the mouth.
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