I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.
The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.
Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.
At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.
— The End —