reading room
The Garden of Youth
They said a garden must be tended, as if wildness were a flaw. But every thought they tried to straighten just grew around their law.
Dreams push through cracks they never planned, half doubt, half something true. The weeds don't ask for reprimand; they only do what flowers do.
The sun should warm, not blind or burn, not glare like something owed. The best light listens, helps us learn, and lets new colours grow.
Rain shouldn't fall like punishment, but softly, clear and kind — a rhythm meant to nourish roots, not flood a fragile mind.
The gardeners must move with care, not fear what they didn't know. The brightest growth begins when they step back, and let it show.
Still, underground, the seeds persist, alive, unruled, unmade. They hum beneath the clenched-up fist, and wait to meet the day.
And now the paths begin to split, the fences blur, the rest makes sense. We grow through trust, through time, through wit — wild, deliberate, immense.
— Lilith