Overgrown

She stared out the bedroom window overlooking their garden, weighing it all up.  His bad jokes she could leave, along with his equally bad breath, his snoring, his inability to set the cushions straight and his frankly cavalier approach to the whole question of cutlery storage.  She could even leave the dogs.

No, it was her carefully planted borders that trapped her.  All those hours she’d spent getting them just so.  She rubbed her eyes and sighed.  She was, it seemed, chained to those pesky herbaceous perennials.

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13 thoughts on “Overgrown

    1. I kind of think we’ve all known someone like that – and I think maybe a lot of people find leaving stuff behind a factor……we think we own stuff but perhaps the stuff owns us, that sort of (not particularly original) thing….

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