Excitement bubbles. The writer is back. Like spring, some things are inevitable. But they did not expect this to be one of them.
Sprigs of white flowers hang like chandeliers above the back alley. I should make cordial. But the idea is met with barriers; reasons why not, rather than reasons why. This is how they think. Yet look at them now. Fizzing.
Why make elderflower champagne? It ruins the taste of both. What a stupid thing to say. Not everything is for you, my dear. But then, if not for the writer, who is this for?
Increase pressure. Conform to the glass shell. Expand. Grow. Keep this to yourself.
Explode.
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