(flower hana|haki sick)

when you got a paper cut carnation pedals slipped from the wound and flitted to the ground you sucked your finger and spat some pedals from your mouth but your finger was healed. your finger print was the rings of a tree. though i held your hand and kissed your fingertip, offering what healing powers i could. there was still no way to count your age not years not young nor old not mortal nor immortal.

i wondered if you were sick. could you get sick? i wondered if you could miss. if you could, like me, be already mourning the tree not felled, yearn for the one you have not yet lost.