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The past whispers, but the future roars – maybe this year, I’ll listen.

In the fleeting life of flowers, we find a mirror of our own love’s impermanence, a beauty that cannot last but is never forgotten.

In a room of broken walls, where my thoughts hang like shadows from the ceiling, I find myself suspended—caught in the fragile web of self-imposed barriers. Here, within the crumbling confines of my own making, I wrestle with the fear…