Have you ever found your life so delicate that it’s hanging by a thread of passwords, with only one attempt left?

My mother came to meet me once, Holding a potted plant. Was it Daisy or Chrysanthemum? I couldn’t care less! She said it will do me good,  To have another life around my room. Something I can grow and adore,  A memento that reminds me of home. When she left, I looked at the flowerpot,  I was dismayed, I did not want to keep it, no. It was a pang of the past-  How could I nurture a woe to my heart? It wasn’t easy! it wasn’t just! To be reminded of memories that rust. To revisit the sadness and the pain, For, I had lost more at home than…