The flower is open.
I can smell it.
Touch it.
See it.
I hear the song it plays.
There is nothing so beautiful in the world.
The flower smiles.
I see the joy in the smile.
And the pain in the eyes.
No one heard the song today.
No one knelt by to smell.
It quivers.
I hear the song again.
I sing along.
And then I see it.
There’s a delicate, invisible strand.
I can see it.
I listened for it.
It was gone.
I hear a tiny sound.
The flower is closed.
I will stand by.
I will wait for the song.
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Talk, my friend. Now that you've read this section, the urge to speak has increased. I know. It's all right. It happens...
Stop fighting it. Talk.