M’AMAONONM’AMA?

UPDATE THE GAME

Once, we pulled petals to convince ourselves there was an answer, to give rhythm to uncertainty, to believe chance was a kind of fate.
Now we check our phones, wait for signals, read silence like it means something.
Online.
Offline.
Typing…
deleting…
gone.
I pull a petal. I check the screen.
Still nothing.
Another petal. Another excuse.
Another story in my head.
I tear the flower apart like it could actually know something — like love had a logic,
like there was a right answer. But love doesn’t reply. It’s not clear. It’s not fair.
It refuses to simplify. It hides in details, in bad timing, in everything left unsaid.
And you stay there looking for a sign that maybe isn’t even there.
And in the end, petal after petal, message after message, only one truth remains: you don’t know…