ghost
The memories ripped through his mind as he flipped the pages of the centuries old leather-bound book. Everything she had written he tried desperately to put an image to. She had not been the same in those days and it pained him to try to recall the hours before her untimely death. He inhaled sharply, the vivid flashbacks only tightening the knot in his tiny chest.
A memory of my childhood. Her house was always filled with bears; her mother made them as a hobby. I have a couple of my own, one of which is very dear to me. They are a comfort at this point. Every time I see their beady little eyes I'm reminded of my youth and our friendship.
She carved the words into her heart so she could keep them always. They remained a constant reminder of what was said. She would not be so quick to ignore them and she would not be too smitten to forget.
Covered in poisoned spikes was the stem of the delicate flower. She touched it, unable to keep her pale fingers away from the one that she was named after. It resembled her so. Soft and delicate, untouchable like her porcelain skin yet wrapped in a defensive shield that lured all away but the brave or the insane.
It was the smell of death that lingered in the heavy air of the morning shore. The sea bird's lifeless body was buried in wet sand and salt. He stared, face long and withdrawn. He cried the helpless wail that strikes absolute fear into those that hear. He couldn't help it; he was a mourner.
You are the detergent that I use because you are the one that smells the best. All those years of being forced to use others I am glad that you are now on my side. Teamed together with my washer, you purify my clothes.