Friday Fictioneers

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A simple bouquet from the rock garden, proof that beauty can emerge from roughness. Hesitating to grab it, but had nothing else to offer. Only this morning was he free. Ten years away, he wondered if her letters were true. Would she still love the arrogant protester ending up in jail for his views? Of course he had mellowed, it was necessary in that horrible space. He lived only for her words, written in tear stained script. He also wept as he read them. Now he was going to surprise her. He clutched the flowers and knocked on her door.

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21 November 2025

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