There are things that come late. Moments that arrive in a tepid manner right past the point break. They will only come when you have crested and your will has fallen on itself and there nothing left but the promise you made to yourself. Never give up is easier said than done. It is probably the hardest easier said than done. With moisture in the air and cloud cover between you and the sun, your flowers wait to bloom.
We all want to bloom. Fully. We all want to be a flower in the garden and to be appreciated for the natural beauty of our unique scent, sight, or sound. There are things that take your sight, your scent, or your sound and lend you to another, whether natural or unnatural. We should never allow this. Never be used for anything other than what you want. What you want is the only thing that is truly yours. There is no fate, just the promise that given the right amount of sun, air, and water you will bloom.
You imagine being is a flower to sprout, pollen in a chrysalis of layers, a bind of pedals and encased in a green sepal, released and given to the world. What have we now? It is a bloom or is it another flower that will open and wither in the garden? Is it a bloom that will fall in the ground and turn into top-soil for other flowers to siphon and feed on? Is it a bloom that goes through the steps and falls prey to them, never opening as wide, color desaturated, set mute by the motions it’s own anticipated cycle? A stress is placed on this visible flower and we rush to cut and to strike at the garden around in hopes of being picked. That is life, but life is not a flower to bloom. Life is the pant itself, and this plant can not be rush or forced to grow. We rush to bloom and because of this we never grow.
Do not look at life as the fleeting flower, but as a vine. Feel for the sun and hold to the plane of existence and bloom. You only live once, but in this life you can bloom many times over.