They had stirred in my brain for what felt like ages, like waves unable to grow, a sad testament to the drought. Suddenly, it was in my hand, the amalgamation of word and feeling. But it was weak, barely able to stand, much less fly to you.
Not that it mattered, it came too late. You already had this from another. I could see it in your smile, the one I tried to revive.
Now this fruit I bear has no meaning, though it pleads for one with a sorrowful expression. So I throw them to the walls around me and leave the mess to whimper.
This would be my entry for the 100-Word Challenge from Juilia’s Place. I say would because there is one thing that it has none of that the prompt requires. Sadly, this week has drained the humor reserve for the week, so it needs to recharge.
Still, I hope you all enjoy!