Extras

Fortune of Flowers

*plucks petals from a flower*
He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not.
*stops plucking petals*
Thinks to herself: “The sky sure is pretty today. It’d be nice to get on a plane & float through the clouds, away from all of this.”
The solution always seemed to be ‘get on a plane & never look back.’ But she always stayed.
She would never leave.
*continues plucking petals*
He loves me, he loves me not.
She looked down…only 2 petals remained.
He loves me…he loves me not.
She threw the stem to the ground…among all the others that ended with the same two petals.
How long had she been here, plucking these flowers, hoping that one would have an odd number of petals?
He loves me, he loves me not.
Love; so complex, yet so easily determined by the number of petals on a flower.

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