You found comfort in your dreams- a secret battlefield, a refuge no hand could reach. Envy turned to whispers, you withdrew, wanting neither victory nor praise. They called you quiet, demure- a closed bud, not knowing the ocean inside you, infinite and self‑sustaining, sanctuary of salt water silence. But something stirs your paradise: lightning peppers distant clouds, thunder- clammoring- draws near. A yearning rises that pride denies- the pull of earth, sensual demand, gravity's personal seduction. What was once enchanted now turns stale; whispers: After all, dreams are only dreams. The soil murmurs; comfort pleads, yet the soul knows its path- dropping downward, winds inward, to the sacred crucible. Barefoot, you enter, the furnace of earth. Its heat cleanses; the bud trembles, petals remember the lick of sun. There will be pain. But when the fire passes, you will rise- not untouched, but transformed- Spring breaking open beneath your feet, and your budding beauty- Blooms



Beautifully written. As always.
🧡beautiful