plants grow where burdens lie.
it's the inevitable irony of life.
it's like its way of compensating; of apologizing for its imperfection.
i'm sure you're aware by now that life isn't the big playground that it used to be.
that the future's not shiny stars and flying cars.
and heartbreaks aren't looking wistfully out if car windows as some sad gilbert o'sullivan song plays in the background.
trust me , i know.
instead, it's a weird mixture of love and woe and happiness and awkward, musicless moments.
it makes you feel so enraptured and grateful for earth's existence and makes you wanna jump off a cliff the next.
and i know that you wish that you could just rip away the bad parts, seal it in a box and launch it to a different planet, never to be seen again.
but through experience, i learned that the bad parts are actually of good use.
as unromantic as problems may be, they're admittedly the best teachers.
and as hurtful sharp words may be, they're the ones that leave a mark.
and that's good.
it's good because you'll remember where it hurts and from there, you plant seeds.
you plant where it aches the most, and eventually, they'll grow.
sunflowers will burst from the very pores of your skin, stems and leaves twisting over and in.
rose buds and lavender will cover you up and soon all the broken parts will be concealed, becoming nothing more than a flowery bower; a distant memory.
an echoing tune of a+ once woeful harmony.
because plants grow where burdens lie.
all you have to do is step in to the light.
