My friend sent me his heart. I had no idea what to do with it and knew that I could not keep it, I told him so, but he insisted that it was forever mine to do with it what I liked. I climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower and placed it where it would have a view over the city of light and lovers. There is a lot to learn from that.
Its been ten years. He met a cute Goth. I suggested I return his heart. No keep the heart. It's dead. Let it rot in peace.
I can't climb up the Eiffle anymore and the lift feels claustrophobic. But I stood looking up hoping I would see a red rose creeping. Sometimes rot is good.
Birgit Solvsten D'Alpoim was born in northern Denmark but has since lived on four continents. She writes flash fiction and has had micros and a short story published. She has recently finished a novelette for YA.
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