I was meant to bloom— unfurl, sing, and shine, not be tended or trimmed, not molded for duty and possession.
I was meant to bloom, not decorate an entropic cave, not drizzle in vain someone’s emptiness with the sweetness of my effervescent petals— infusing their spoiled, sour strands.
Even in the drought, I drank rainbows through my veins. My tendrils breathed warmth into soil, while the sky hid behind clumped clouds. I stretched toward muffled sunlight.
I was meant to bloom.
And then it rained, not to nourish or cleanse. Poured. Unstoppable— the ground swelled, my petals sagged, roots dislodged, my garden drenched to swamp.
Yet I stand, sturdy but hollow. They nest in my shade, leech my youth, and — call it love.
Slowly, quietly, I sink.
Still—
Dreaming of butterflies, even a wilt can reach the sun. Single ray ignites its desire.
Butterflies will come And I will bloom… as I was always meant to.
Author’s Note: Not everyone who stands tall is thriving. Not every flower is there for you to pick. For every time you bloomed in silence, offered too much, or were mistaken… This one is personal. 🌸
I don’t want to think what’s right— what’s right anymore?
I’ve been doing all the right things: behaved right, got the right degree, married the right guy…
Still, I ended up in the wrong place— or the wrong end of the right place, at most.
A precise blueprint, yet wayward— disarrayed, veering off the ideal design.
I’m incomplete. Misaligned.
Isn’t that right? For me—it’s wrong.
Why is it wrong? I did all the right things?
Why then, amidst all these rights, do I feel misplaced— a lucky penny lost in a dry desert, gleaming in the sun, yet inconspicuous in the sand— Blindly chasing paths marked right or wrong.
Incongruous.
Why is it wrong, doing what feels right?
I’m tempted to do what’s wrong— forbidden, There’s a thrill in rebellion, a treasure awaiting discovery in the shadows.
But what if it’s not wrong? And perhaps even right— right for me.
So, if I do wrong things, maybe at least I’ll finally feel right.
Dreams, my child, are treasures deep, Cradled in your heart where they safely sleep. While coins and jewels swell with rust, Your dreams are the riches that defy all dust.
On a tree of wishes, tags swing high, Soft tears whispered to the everlasting divine sky. Gold may glitter, diamonds may gleam, But nobody can ever steal a sweet childhood dream!
Health is wealth, the wise declare, Yet, dreams have wings beyond compare. So dream your dreams, chase them far, A priceless gift—a magical shooting star.
Your dreams are fires that never die, A beaming lighthouse—guiding you through the night. So dream big, dear child, the world is wide, Open your heart, let your dreams soar with pride.
Author’s Note: I’ve always wanted to write a passionate scene, even though, in my opinion, romantic plots are often overdone. Still, many horror stories I’ve read miss something… that subtle romantic subplot showing the soft and vulnerable side of the character. I needed to make sure my story didn’t overlook this aspect. True and authentic love is incredibly hard to find, right? Maybe that’s why we turn to books, hoping to glimpse and experience its magic through the characters we follow. Yet, if you’re lucky enough to experience the perfect kiss even once in your life, you’re truly fortunate. It’s worth the wait! On that note, as a self-proclaimed romantic, I had to weave this delicate thread into my dark story, obviously. 🙂
Here’s a glimpse of that moment from chapter 14 of my project, without giving too much away. ❤️
He put both hands firmly on her face, preventing her from slipping away. There was no way he would let her go this time. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”
Before Nayah could respond, his lips found hers, soft and gentle at first, but full of hunger and intensity, waiting for her for far too long. She realized in that instant how much she wanted this—wanted him—more than she had ever admitted. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand sliding into his drenched hair. Her fingers dug in, feeling the tenderness of his skin. It was soothing and addictive—his warmth against the cold rain.
His hand shifted to cradle her neck, drawing her closer, as though he would never let her go. It wasn’t just the kiss—it was the way his entire body leaned into hers, every movement charged with meaning. His chest pressed against hers with desire to fill the spaces she had kept hidden from the world. Nayah responded, releasing a soft sigh. Her knees buckled slightly, but she shifted closer, seeking more of him. The kiss wasn’t just physical; it was an unraveling, a collapse of the last walls between them.
For a moment, nothing else existed—no haunted houses, no missing journals, no demons or keys—just this.
But the passionate kiss was interrupted when a sudden, loud crack of thunder reverberated beneath their feet. They pulled apart, both gasping, startled by the sound.
Nayah stepped back breathless. “What… what was that?” “I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight with unease. The sky had darkened even further, thick clouds rolling in, casting the town square into a dark twilight. But something else felt off. Nayah sensed it—a prickling fear crawling over her skin.
Our lives are like the rain falling from the sky, Sometimes gentle, like a whisper—an unnoticed sigh. A light rain on a warm day, no big deal, Just a kiss from the heavens—a bliss to feel.
A single drop on a leaf, a sweet graceful dance, It slides to the tip, then takes its chance. As it dives to the ground, the leaf bounces back, A tranquil scene—a peaceful act.
Yet when the rain pours, in torrents and sheets, The leaf takes the blows, withstanding the beats. It’s under attack from raindrop-heavy punches, Just like we face challenges in unpredictable bunches.
But the rain pounds harder when the storms rage, Life’s troubles cascade, taking over the whole stage. People like leaves, caught in the fray, Fighting like raindrops on a stormy day.
And then comes the hurricane, wild and free, Ripping apart the tallest tree! Life’s greatest storms, we cannot predict, They tear through our lives, leaving us kicked.
We cannot control the weather and the rain, Just like life’s joys and moments of pain. But we can stand firm, like the leaf on the tree, Bouncing back after each drop, strong and free.
Yet, rainbows emerge, vibrant and bright, Everyone points with pure delight. A promise of beauty after the rain, A reminder of joy after moments of pain.
For every storm that shakes the ground, There’s a magical rainbow waiting to be found. In the dance of the rain, in the calm and the strife, We find the essence, the beauty of life.
Wolverine Lily 