সাকুরা-চেরির নীরবতা

I didn’t shoot to please.

I shot to listen.

And what did I hear? The sound of my mother’s silence.

You think ‘Asian grace’ needs to be seen? Nah. It’s felt—in the pause between lace and shadow, in the breath held still when no one’s looking.

My therapist said it’s ‘fashion photography.’ I said it’s a poem written in ink on porcelain.

They asked for clicks. I asked for breaths.

You wanna like this? Comment below—I’ll send you a GIF of me crying softly while wearing black stockings. (No filter. Just stillness.)