I started with watercolors.

They bled too easily. Spread beyond where I placed them. I kept trying to guide them—stay here, soften there—but they wouldn’t listen.

Too loose, I thought. Too much.

I was too much.

So I reached for acrylic.

Something heavier. More obedient. Something that could cover what felt unfinished. I layered it on, slow and deliberate, like I could stabilize the whole thing if I just kept going.

There. Better.
You’re okay.
See? You can fix this.

But I couldn’t.

So I took the ink.

A thinner line, but sharper. Less forgiving. I traced each petal carefully, outlining every fold, every slight imperfection. Not to erase it—but to see it. To make it visible.

It needed to be seen.
I needed to be seen.

“Stay here,” I told it.
Hold.

it did.