I Can See Clearly Now . Years later, the memory still exists—but now it is sealed, suspended. He sees it clearly, but without pain. Time has softened the edges. The battle has not disappeared, but it lives inside a bubble, locked away. The garden has folded in on itself—quiet, reflective, untouchable. The flowers remain unchanged. Their colour still speaks, but from behind glass. A bird hovers, mid-motion, as if waiting for something unspoken. This image is not peace—it’s protection. The memory is intact, but no longer sharp. It cannot reach him, and he cannot reach it. He carries it like a pressed petal, once vivid, now held carefully out of time. The garden endures, but so does distance. He can see it now. He just no longer needs to feel it.