Bloom Baby Bloom

Somewhere between anger and liberation, something stubborn, prickly, and alive blossoms. That very force, which had long pretended to be fragile, now stood up to its full height, dusted itself off, and declared, “Enough.” There is fire and mockery in its voice, as if the rose has remembered that it has thorns. And yes, it smells not only of spring, but also of gasoline.

This is not a story about perfect softness - it's about how pain turns into fertilizer and doubt into light. Sometimes, in order to bloom, you first need to curse, burn the old scenery, and slam the door a couple of times. But then - look how beautifully it grows.