all the things that bloom

this is not about flowers

it’s the first notes of your favorite song when you put it on for the first time.

or maybe it was the first time the artist played those notes on the guitar for the first time.

it’s when you start to think about your crush more and more each day, and feel the butterflies whenever you talk.

and suddenly you get a text:

“i have been meaning to ask, are you free this friday?”

the first time you saw your best friend, does it still play in your mind like a film scene? your first conversation, what was it about?

ours was watching a volleyball game in high school. my friends said they would skip it. i went in anyway. i sat on the wrong bench. i looked at the girl beside me and asked:

“who is winning again? i can’t see the score.”

looking back now, i imagine “ribs” starting to play at this exact moment.

how easy it was to feel the air suddenly change. as if fate was building the whole day up to this one moment.

maybe it’s when you utter the first words of your prayer,

desperately wishing for dreams you have never told anyone about.

maybe it’s just a little girl sitting at the edge of her bed at midnight.

it was me too.

everyone else was asleep, but i still checked around to see if someone was listening, just to be sure.

and for the first time i found the courage to say it, in the comfort of my solitude and the late hour of the night.

some dreams seem too fragile for outside eyes and ears. they should only be whispered quietly when alone in the dark.

the things we want the most are often the things we are terrified to say out loud.

because when we say them out loud, when we hear them uttered, they become possible.

possible enough to be real, and possible enough to disappoint us.

because it’s going to hurt if they don’t come true.

but if you never let them see the light of day, if you keep them caged deep inside your heart, buried away,

you can convince yourself you never really cared if they came true at all.

but then you end up living with a different question:

“what if i tried?”

maybe we should say things out loud more.

you don’t have to scream.

you can whisper them too.

or write them on a piece of paper.

but first we have to take our desires out of the cages we put them in.

because when we let things bloom,

we set an ounce of magic free.

maybe there and then, a spirit embraces life, takes shape under your spell, and sets off to wander around the universe.

the random word that got stuck in your mind, that you wanted to name your poem.

for me it’s bittersweet.

maybe they are not random at all.

the bizarre stories of how you meet your favourite people. why did you both happen to be at the right place at the right time?

it’s jarring to imagine what if one of you just didn’t make it there that day.

but do you ever get the feeling that you’d meet certain people in your life one way or another?

like all along they were meant to be part of your story. you can feel the story wouldn’t be complete without them.

one of my friends told me she was actually meant to be a twin. but her mom had a miscarriage. she said whenever she sees twins she gets sad, thinking of what could have been. knowing she was meant to be part of a pair.

“maybe that’s why nobody gets me,” she said. “the one that was supposed to be by my side all my life never made it.”

can you mourn someone you have never met?

what if we never meet the person we most need to meet?

do we just cling harder to the ones already by our sides?

the ones that are by our side. maybe they are the ones we were most supposed to meet all along.

and that day, after crying in school and coming to blows with my friends, i saw an old friend at the bus stop i hadn’t seen in a while.

it was all i needed at the moment.

just a sign that i’m not alone.

just a whisper, carried by the wind from above the clouds.

i try to imagine the promise it brings:

“it’s all going to be okay.”

maybe it was fate lending me a hand in a time of need.

at moments like those i imagine “let it be” playing in the background.

like when i found out i didn’t get into my dream college.

when i felt all i worked for during an entire year was in vain. i felt i had wasted a good year of my teens for nothing.

i stared at the ceiling all night,

wondering what i did to deserve this. analyzing the whole year in my head. looking for my fatal mistake.

where did it all go wrong?

i saw the first rays of sunshine peeking through the curtains while still lying in bed.

the new day is here.

a new day that can’t make my troubles disappear.

a new day that i still have to live through.

and then there comes a text when i am feeling most down:

“is this a good time to ask?”

and i hear the first notes beginning to play on the piano.

and i stop playing indifferent. i say the things i want to say. i say all my fears without being afraid they’ll come to life.

what i feared already happened.

and this is another day.

it’s a new day that’s willing to ease my pain.

it’s opening the window and watching the sun rise again .

like it has done for billions of people before you. like it will for billions after.

there is hope in that.

in watching the sun rise.

in knowing it will rise tomorrow. and the day after. and the day after that.

because even when the night is cloudy there is still a light shining on us.

it will shine until tomorrow,

only if you let it be.

maybe it was when my mom gave me my first journal

and i wrote my first words.

i had found the song i was meant to sing.

i would write to ease the pain of

my own first,

then others’.

but first i had to live through the pain.

i had to cry at the bus stop.

i had to bottle up everything i wanted to say.

i had to stare at the ceiling all night.

then i could take up the pen

and let it bloom.

because when we let it be,

all things bloom.