- editorial -
with blooming plants and growing grass, one girl wanders.
in her hands, she holds small thistles. dried with age, she keeps them close, shielding them from sunlight. like jewels, they rest – preciously hidden away.
when alive, she had quickly gathered them – but then they began to dry. and as they dried, she clasped even tighter. though spring now grows around her, the thistles still remain.