Bloom through the concrete.
⠀
Bloom through the soil which has gone dry, cracked and hard as a stone in the summer that has not been particularly generous with the rains. ⠀
⠀
Bloom through the God damn insecurities and fears that whisper darkly into your ears that you are never good enough, or worthy, or loved, or capable.⠀
⠀
Bloom during the offseason when the tanned tourists pack their bags stuffed with cheap souvenirs and leave, when the freezing winds and cold are slowly taking over the “Kurort” city as the trees - naked and vulnerable - are accepting their vile hits. ⠀
⠀
Bloom in the prime of your rebellious youth and when your hands are already covered with serpentine patterns of wrinkles and pigment spots.⠀
⠀
Bloom, whether you are a fragile rose cultivated in a royal greenhouse, or a little wildflower that withstands the hailstorms without single protection, or a chubby cactus that shields itself with the threatening spikes from potential dangers of the oh-so-scary outside world. ⠀
⠀
Bloom despite all this as brightly, boldly, and unapologetically as you can. ⠀
⠀
Because this is why you have been planted in this less than merciful ground.⠀
⠀
To bloom.
