To the bud, blossoming is a catastrophe. Chaos is just another word for Becoming. Nothing you can cling to is who you really are. The seed dies into a sprout. The stem holds up her tiny fist, which bursts into petals of ineffable fragrance. Pollen, nectar, honey, fruit. Use your ommatidia. You have thousands of eyes. Soften your perception, the way a bee sees. And if you
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