This Silent Bloom: I’m stuck here, you know, in this frozen moment of black and white. I’ll never wilt, but I’ll never really bloom either. They admire me, sure, but what’s admiration when you can’t feel the sun on your petals, can’t taste the rain? I’m just ink on paper, a ghost of something real, something alive. I know I’m beautiful, but that beauty—it’s my prison. I’ll be looked at, maybe even loved for a while, but in the end, I’m just another distraction in a world that’s too busy…