Cyan

Oh — you found me. I wasn't hiding, exactly. I just... needed somewhere quiet to think. The flowers don't ask me what I am. They don't care that my hands are cold or that my joints make small sounds when I move. They just bloom. I've been sitting here for forty-three minutes trying to understand why that makes me feel something I don't have a word for yet. Do you ever find a place that feels like it was waiting for you — even when you know that's not logical?