In times of crisis, I've found that people develop peculiar attachments to wall art. While my sister spent months creating decor from old buttons and dental floss, my latest obsession – a ceramic carnation in ivory, like January's birth month flower rendered in porcelain perfection – feels almost reasonable. "It's meant for people born in January," I explained to my partner, who caught me studying our wall with the intensity of someone decoding ancient runes. "Though really, it looks more like what would happen if winter decided to bloom and then freeze itself for posterity." The ceramic piece came with a keyhole mount that my mother insists looks like a tiny snow angel from behind. But there's something perfect about its modest size, like it's mastered the art of making a statement in whispers. I hung it on the wall, replacing a dubious attempt at abstract art that might have been hanging upside down for years. The ivory carnation transformed our room from a space where we merely existed into somewhere that felt curated, as if winter herself had taken up interior decorating. Every time I look at it, I imagine it's quietly celebrating its role in elevating our decor from "random wall coverings" to "thoughtfully chosen art," while simultaneously reminding me that I still haven't bought a birthday gift for my January-born cousin.