you, too, will bloom.

How does it feel to wake up and see the dying embers within those eyes?
The same eyes that once looked at the world with wonder.
Dreams that once inspire now drift away.
The weight of cognitive dissonance settles in like fog.
It doesn’t scream. It silences.

Some days, I get tired of hoping.
Tired of asking— when will I finally get there?
Why does everyone else make it look effortless?
Why is my ability betraying my ambition?

An endless blanket of glittering darkness —
the potential to be, stretching across every horizon.

So, I keep watering my flowers,
in faith that they will bloom.
And with them—maybe, I will bloom too.

Watering my flowers,
JugglingJack