and_now_it_is_dead raze not long after all of this began, i was gifted a flowering plant with something acrid swimming in its veins. we named the anthurium arthur. it sat on an antique end table, wedged between a bookshelf and a crumbling couch, hoisting its heterogeneous neck to see the sun. there were always two bracts in_bloom. no more. no less. whenever one faded, another rose to take its place. it went on like this until the gift-giver was gone and a single red sheath remained. the only living thing left to link me to her hung on for another_year, through root rot and a cracked pot. through the hardening of sadness into something less inclined to be seduced into leaving. and now it's dead. 250225 what's it to you? who go blather from