she had it in mind, everytime she went dusting those old shelves.
The book with a pressed rose has travelled through time with her.
but one fine day something inside her called and she picked it out.
the touch of the old blue cover was nostalgic, images crossed her mind as she moved her fingers over the carved out words "BEDTIME STORIES".
The pages has turned yellow signifying the years that have passed, she went through them careful about their fragility.
she was walking through the boulevards of forgotten memories, she could see all those nights when various stories were being read to her. the pictures were the same. the characters could remember her, they were happy to see her once again in these lanes.
she could hear the voice of her mother, the pitch going high and low on every twist and turn.her long beautiful fingers conjuring animals who spoke and ran.
she went back to the age when she was a little girl who came running with a red rose, her hands covered with mud. while playing a little rose has grabbed her attention and she had gone running to put it in her mother's long unbraded hair.
she looked in awe at her mother's face which was glorified with the flower. her beauty magnified and enough to put the little girl's world on halt.
That night their was a story about a rose wich belonged to a fairy, and the magic it bestowed onto the lady.
the flower has dried but is proud for the fairy it adored years ago. she held it carefully, her eyes moist, it was time to turn back to reality. her little daughter asked her what this is...and she told her the same story of the fairy and her rose. mesmerised this little girl held this rose in her hand and thinking of something she then put it in her mother's hair.
tears were all she could manage as she hugged her.
the flower was pressed again in the pages....it have years more to cross ahead.