Tiny Roses

Photo Credit: Ananthu Selvam

After you tried to make me laugh, and I stifled my smile; after you asked me about my day, and I left your question cold on the table; after you pressed your palms to my hips, and I shrugged away; after you unveiled your secret heart to me—the war bleeding in your home country, the millions weeping, how the media is not listening, no one in the world is listening—and I huffed a sigh of impatience; even after all this, you returned home from work today with a tablet of dark chocolate and a pot of tiny roses.

This microblog is part of a current series called “Grace-glimpses.”