the rivers wash you down, flooding without rhyme or reason. they fill you with angst, the kind where you are little. your fear of others something you know all too well. the warmth granting you no comfort but only pain. the promise of tomorrow is but a mirage. with no bird to take you away, you little seedling. the hope for growing up, something you hold close.
when all you want is to be planted, why must a spade unearth you. when all you want is for your roots to grow, why must they be ripped from the soil. the lack of water has never been your problem. in fact the flooding has not helped. you were always meant to grow in serenity. and only to a certain point. so why must you not be grounded.
something they will tell you is that you will eventually grow, and grow you will. but when you grow you won’t be still. for you to sprout your own seeds, you will first need to endure this many more times.
a forest needs some trees to burn sometimes.