Flowers have perplexed me for a long time.

Not the actual plants and petals of them, but the tendency to give them as gifts for a certain holiday or other occasion.

For most of my life, I wondered why men rushed to the florist to buy a bouquet.

It didn’t seem quite right to profess undying love with flowers which would, in fact, die.

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The throbbing in the soles of my feet heightened as the temperature dropped.

It’s probably the week’s worth of steps I’ve taken. Maybe it’s the jagged rock, which worked its way into the bottom of my foot through a hole in my right shoe.

It appeared on my third day of walking. The third day of sleeping under the stars or the occasional overpass.

The third day after I lost everything. I lost it all because of my pride.

My feet were killing me. I looked behind me and saw a series of bloody footprints.

Yup, it was the rock.

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