So I didn’t cut it.
But I know the difference now. A weed grows fast because it has nowhere to stay. A second bloom grows slow because it remembers the first winter. eva blume - in blume second entry
— Eva
Instead, I sat with it. Every evening. I watered it not because I believed, but because the ritual became a small rebellion against my own logic. What if , I thought, the bloom isn’t the point? What if the point is the rot learning to hold water again? So I didn’t cut it
Here’s a draft for — written as a reflective, poetic journal entry or voice note transcript, depending on the medium you’re aiming for (e.g., short film, album insert, Instagram caption series, or prose piece). Eva Blume – In Blume: Second Entry There’s a second kind of blooming. Not the loud one. Not the one petals announce with a snap of color against grey pavement. A second bloom grows slow because it remembers
This one happens in the dark.