Those flowers bloom like blossoming teenagers, he thought as one of his pupils from his English class walked into his hospital room, her arms filled with a large bouquet spreading a sensual perfume on the draft coming in from the open window, her cheeks the same pink as the roses, her lipstick red lips saying she was really sorry for misinterpreting his suggestion to study for the upcoming exam at his home, ‘I really shouldn’t have pushed you,’ she said solemnly, looking down her flowery dress: pink with beige flowers; her tanned legs, her fat calves and her narrow ankles, black shoes, no tights, no socks, knee-highs, high heels, a little bruise just above the knee, in a kind of smiley shape; he could feel it, in him, her, the bruise, the smiley, he moaned; ‘Are you in pain?’ she asked, ‘No… yes but, oh, maybe, he thought, I will try again, to win her over, ‘I only wanted to help you get…’ he could see she understood, she understood, ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘Maybe,’ she said leaving the flowers on his bed, later when the flowers started to wilt a ladybird crawled out over the flabby pink petals of the roses; it spread its tiny wings and flew away.

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