Oh, my little orchid, petal by petal,
Vibrant and fragrant,
In each petal, love’s gentle touch,
A garden’s spirit, a sacred place of peace.

 In every blossom, love’s story unfolds.
I watched it stretch, reaching for the light,
Growing new branches in love’s soft shade.
But your petals, once vibrant, now fell,
Scattered like delicate memories, fading into the dust.
The soil dried, and roots clung to what remained,
A withered, forgotten plant, lost beneath the weight of loss.

My heart, too, broke—shed its own petals,
Grieving softly in the silence of the garden.
I hid there, whispered my story to the bleeding hearts,
Burying my secrets deep in the darkened soil.

Yet from the dust, they grew—
Pushing through, untouched by time or sorrow.
And one day, from the quiet shadows,
A single stubborn branch bloomed—
Radiant, like a forgotten dream, now remembered.
A dry, lifeless thing reborn into magic,
Each petal shimmering with the light of hope,
The fragrance of resilience filling the air.

Still standing, still growing, still reaching for the light—
Flowers will bloom again, even after they’re stepped on.
So I will, too.

Not as a symbol of perfection,
But as a reminder that brokenness is where strength is born.
A testament to the journey,
To feel the breeze that carries memories
Of every tender touch, every tear shed,
And every silent prayer.

The final bloom shall unfurl,
Revealing itself to the world,
A story of growth, born from what was shattered,
A breeze that whispers strength, soft and true.
To witness my rise from all that once broke me,
And feel the force of life, reborn in my touch.