“I focused very hard on the dead geranium in his line of vision. I thought if I could make it bloom he would have his answer. In my heaven it bloomed. In my heaven geranium petals swirled in eddies up to my waist. On Earth nothing happened... I stood alone in a sea of bright petals.”

“He smells like night-blooming flowersCrushed, juicy petals on the pillowsHis voice is full of oceanHumming like the surfHe kneels before me like I am his goddessHe is a god”

“She demanded, "Give up your life of idolatry and become a doctor."I declined. "I have my geraniums to look after.”

“Yes,” I said, looking back up as the sun settled into the sky, the red blooming from it like flower petals. “It has already begun.”

“Bryn,” I murmured, twisting around to see his sleeping face steeped in the brightness of the day. I stroked my fingers down his cheek and ran my hands through his silky mane of black hair. I must be dead, I mused, for certainly waking up in Bryn’s arms is heaven.”

“She stroked one of the geranium's petals, inhaling its particular bitter fragrance, which she admired for its bold air of unapology.”