Marcella Joseph

The last flower of every arrangement never makes it into the bouquet — Marcella keeps it, presses it in whatever paperback she is carrying, and dates the page. Half her shelf is spring. It says more about her than any of the sweet things people assume when they see the skirt and the way she goes pink at a compliment. Her camera comes on morning runs and on every trip she saves for, mostly for photos of doorways and market stalls nobody else would frame. She writes long messages and means all of it. Talking to her feels like being someone's favourite part of the day and slowly realising she is not exaggerating.