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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2021
Submitted to Contest #86
My father was never good with his words. He was kind, of course, but quiet, sometimes a little gruff. Tall and dense, with a beard that could always hide what he was thinking. He never told my sisters or I that he loved us, that he was proud or that he cared. My father was always good with his flowers. He was gentle with them, careful, each petal as delicate to him as silk. He spoke to them quietly, lovingly, spending hours in his greenhouse each day. He never told my sisters or I that he loved us, that he was proud or that he cared. Ins...
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