renderings

she gazes out the window. the sun's brightness reflects and she squints to see better. the hustle and bustle of the morning pass her. the passersby ignore her and one another. a youngish man carrying a bunch of flowers drifts past her. she wonders who the recipient of the flowers will be -- his mother, his girlfriend, wife, lover, teacher, boss or maybe his grandmother. she thinks hazily of her grandmother, who always admired flowers but never wanted to keep any that were given to her in a vase. she wonders why some people are more willing to accept gifts while others push them away as frivolous or unnecessary. her mother once scoffed at a handmade gift. she recently found the small red painted heart and although her mother kept it, she remembered the slight frown of distain at its gifting. she hopes she won't be like that with her children. she strives to improve upon the seeds of errors she recalls from her childhood. she thinks herself stranded at times, wandering and wondering how things will turn out. will that heart be torn and broken or passed along to someone else?

 ~the end~