By Michaella Thornton
I am just one woman hacking through a lush floral arrangement mid-morning with a borrowed steak knife amid the office’s copy machine and coffee maker, tears streaming down my face as the smell of eucalyptus washes over me; on this seventh wedding anniversary, where my marriage is not a marriage but also not yet over because the gears of dissolution grind slowly, my girlfriend sends me hydrangeas the color of a tributary in my wrist—though the blueness of my body is an illusion of light; all blood is red when spilled, I assure you.
Michaella A. Thornton's writing has appeared in Brevity, Creative Nonfiction, New South, among others, and she will gladly take the cannoli.
Photo by JV Genova, a nonfiction MFA student at Colorado State who takes photographs when she isn't writing.
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