Sprout.

Today the rose broke from its slumber

It didn’t talk…except when I talked

It didn’t grow…except when I grew.

It’s still there

Waiting for something,

Me?

Thirsting, but failing to wilt

Starving, yet unable to fall.

It exists, but will not be,

not yet at least.

It believes in potential, rather than the present

Seeing “what could be” versus “what is”

The leaves may grow…one day

Or petals may fall

Either way,

Spring has come, and the rose has finally awakened.

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