not every moment is meant to bloom.
some days are meant for sinking quietly,
for digging beneath the noise
and strengthening what no one sees.
there’s a beauty in stillness,
a holiness in patience
in letting the soil hold your weight
without demanding color or applause.
the world may call it stagnation,
but you know it’s survival,
you know it’s preparation
the quiet becoming before becoming.
even roots dream of sunlight,
but they stay hidden until they’re ready.
i write for those who
grow underground
and still believe in spring