We are flowers blooming in 8-bit. Each pixel concentrated on exploding into light and color-- so small that no one sees, even if they're looking for it.
They tell us to close our eyes. It is not our spectacle to behold.
We close like clams and open up pearl-less just to let the water rush in. We choke on the salt and hope we swallow our sins.
They teach us to write backwards so that no one knows our secrets.
We ache for the night but we do not know why. The sun shrinks back when we bloom because it is terrified of the beauty of becoming.