I have so many stories, yet none.

But there once was a flower in the corner.

It told me something of importance, something it clung too, yet didn't.

It danced under the moon.

I asked "of all places, must I ask, why the moon? Isn't it just deep?"

"It is nothing deep, yet even more so then ever," it said, "I'd much rather prefer a mess of comfort, than a cleaned smile."

That flower treated the moon not as a gatekeeper meant to take you to the next day, but as an old friend that will always be.