Bloom.

Always.

-----

A forgotten seed.

One that fell off from the little sack of bag as the farmer hurries back home with.

A seed so tiny, no one could even notice as she tumbled from the bag and landed into the grass patch nearby.

A place so foreign and left all alone.

“Where are all her friends?”, the seed wondered.

Right beside the grass patch, she noticed, was a pavement.

It was busy.

There were joggers and cyclists. There were also people walking up and down rushing to and from work every day, from morning to night.

Looking around, the little seed found a hole she could nestled in.

Very quickly, she made new friends.

The grass that protects her,

the soil that gave her nutrients,

the rain that quenches her thirst,

the sun that gave her warmth,

and air that she could breathe.

Day by day, the little seed grew.

Surrounded by her friends, she rooted strongly in the hole she found.

The bond that they shared grew stronger in each passing day.

Months later, she bloomed — a beautiful wild rose with a deep hue of red.

Standing tall in the middle of the grass patch, the rose was a stunner.

Soon, the passerby took notice of her and begin to slow down from their daily rushing to admire her in the mornings and in the evenings.

Her friends were proud.

Once forgotten, the rose has become the centre of attraction.

---

One evening, however, their peace and serenity was disrupted.

 There was a loud whirring sound that neither the grass and the rose were familiar with. All they could see were a man, who was covered from head to toe, holding a long black stick swiping left and right on the grass patch.

It came nearer and nearer.

"Oh no!", thought the rose as she saw the two white tiny blades spinning in such a speed she thought she might faint staring at it any longer.

Thankfully, the blade missed her.

However, as the man progressed further up, he trampled on the rose.

With a force so heavy, the rose could not hold herself up and fell to the ground.

The grass shouted for her as the rose fell and wept.

The rose thought that was the end of her, as the earth surrounding her crumbles into darkness.

---

Pitter patter,

Pitter patter.

The droplets of water from the sky fell onto the rose's petals and stirred her to wakefulness. Her friend, the rain, had come to her rescue.

Feeling the droplets on her, the rose opened her eyes slowly and adjusted her sight to the brightness of the day.

"Oh, I am still alive", the rose thought.

She tried lifting herself up but no matter how much force she puts in, she just could not move. 

All she felt was weak and powerless.

The soil and the grass whispered, "take your time" but trying with all her might to their whisper, she succumbed to the darkness and fell back to sleep.

It was as if the cycle was repeating itself all over again, as if she was the tiny seed once more yet the rose was a resilient one. Even though she was hurting, she felt grateful and blessed that her friends were still around.

Every single day, they would be there, reminding her not to give up.

The soil would nurse her, the grass would cheer her on. The rain would wash away her wound from the shoe print and the sun would hug her with warmth that brings the glow back into her heart. The air would fill her lungs again.

Bit by bit, the rose regained her strength.

Soon enough, she could stand right up once more, like a great beauty she is.

Once more, she blooms again.

---

You will bloom (and again), 

if not today but soon.

With a new fragrance, 

which will last forever 

 - Prianca Mali

-----

This article was originally posted from Medium.