Today I plucked a rose. I put it in my hair. Then after-tea, a change of mood swelled. The curtain were blowing with dusty wind. I shut the windows. I like the breeze but dislike the dust more.
I took out the rose.
Then my husband returned from work with his friend, Mummy came out of her room, the TV was making boring faces.
So I retreated to the kitchen. Stirring steel vessels of maid-cooked curry. Moving glasses with loud tinkles. Clanking spoons. Sounding busy. It is also alone-time for me, this kitchen.
I hunted for the rose. I wanted it back in my hair. But it was lost.