You know that feeling when you wander through a field of memories, and you stumble upon a flower? A single bloom, standing defiant against the winds of time. I found it standing all alone today, radiant in its quiet sorrow, much like the ghosts of my yesterdays.
Sometimes, I think this flower is trying to tell me something. Its petals shiver with every breath of air, whispering secrets only I seem unable to hear. Can flowers have secrets? Here I am, asking the universe such silly questions, when all I have is this fleeting moment with a single petal that quivers like a heartbeat.
Once, I had someone to share these moments with—someone who understood that the most profound conversations could happen silently, just like this. I wish I could transport them back here. They’d appreciate this flower’s melancholy as much as I do.
But now, it’s just me and this lonely bloom. Do you hear its whispers too? Or am I simply talking to myself, to the shadows that trail behind me?
Lost Whispers