I waited unmoving, my head hung low, tired, as red petals sprung from the pavement. Neon flowers of the night repeatedly trampled, squished, and deformed, of little significance to any person or thing, yet carrying so much for me in the musk air of midnight. They danced and bloomed, then disappeared. They would spring up again and again in the span of seconds. They would collapse just as much. I would stand there, breathing heavily, trying to pry the little freshness the air could provide me amongst the heat and humidity. Eagerly awaiting the death of the flowers and the coming of the fresh green leaves of spring, so I, too, could join in their decay and rebirth.
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