The first time I saw it, it was a withered thing left forgotten on the cobblestone in the stark, cold sunshine of the early morning, and I wondered at its presence on the pathway, where it had no doubt been subjected to a large amount of foot traffic.
Of course it was only a flower, and most people don't think about flowers having a story, even if they'd noticed its discarded shape in the first place.
But it was there the second day, maybe twenty feet from where it'd been before, a knarled, discolored thing that I noticed fleetingly as I hurriedly chained my bike to the rails.
It wasn't there on the third day, or if it was, I can't say that I saw it.
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