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Daisy Chains

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Daisy Chains

August sunshine glared down on her olive skin, shimmering through her black hair as it blew gently in the breeze and trickled around her bare shoulders. Me, in her lap, nestled in her skin; the faint smell of musk and sun tan lotion lingering in the air. Her long, dainty fingers carefully cupped a handful of daisy’s.
‘You see? This is how you do it, baby.’ she soothed.
She pierced the stem with her nail and fed through another stem, pulling it tightly through.  ‘Me and you, darling. We’re daisy chains. Once we’re chained together, we’re chained together.’
She carried on making the chain, longer and longer, as I watched in awe. Finally, she finished it, linking the final piece together into a large loop. She placed it in my hair and kissed my neck tenderly, looking deeply in to my eyes, letting out a sigh.

Then, she was gone. No word of warning, just an unmade bed and a half finished cup of tea with a lipstick stain where her lips had once touched. No suitcases were packed, most clothes were still left. All the pictures of me were still placed lovingly in frames, my drawings from school still on the fridge, her half finished novel still placed on the coffee table with a train ticket holding her place. The only thing left was left by my bed, on my table. I only found it a few days after she had gone, and by the time I found it the petals were beginning to wither and die. One single daisy chain, and a note, scribbled in haste. ‘Once we’re chained together, we’re chained together.’

She never came back.

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