@yujilikesriceballs1
A seed pressed deep beneath the ground,
Dark earth above, no light around.
The rain will pour, the cold will bite,
Yet roots will reach toward faintest light.
Petals don’t bloom in hurried breath,
They rise through storms, through life and death.
The soil may weigh upon your chest,
But growth begins in quiet rest.
So let the earth embrace your pain,
Let skies release their softest rain.
A bloom takes time—no rush, no race—
Yet still it finds the sun’s embrace.