I call it seasonal.
Some people call it inconsistent.

I don’t push myself to bloom when the skies are grey.
I rest. I feel. I wait for the sun.
And when it shows up —
so do I.
I call it seasonal.
Some people call it inconsistent.

I don’t push myself to bloom when the skies are grey.
I rest. I feel. I wait for the sun.
And when it shows up —
so do I.
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