6.29.20: My Flowers.
I woke up crying, and he asked me why.
I told him that I had dreamt about a beautiful sky.
And about a field covered in flowers.
Flowers that were pink, yellow, orange and red.
I cried because those flowers were now dead.
He laughed and said no, they’re alive.
He told me to paint them,
he said I could bring them back to life.
He said those flowers were mine.
I painted them. And I believe him. And he was right.
Those flowers are mine.
- E.S.













