One wave of his hand, is saying he's not there. It can not exist, this type of fern is a plant, that can not become a flower, it only remains a mythological seed, a spawn of poetic imagination. And yet it's there. Sincerity shines in mellow tones, which once belonged to hope. Uniqueness shines in intertwining colors, which once hope wanted to be, in the color of love, who hope dared to be. With the freedom to say yes, the freedom to say no. With the freedom to doubt, the freedom of acceptance and rejection. With the freedom of words and silence, in freedom, who hope becomes, in freedom, where hope remains. The freedom of own personal choices, the freedom of their own personal choice. It is this magical, rare and priceless, precious fern flower in your heart. Give it space to flurish, let it shine for itself and others. It's called ~ freedom.