They were never meant
to thrive like this—
cut from the mother,
left to float in silence.
But life,
in its quiet rebellion,
doesn’t ask for ideal.
It listens instead
to light on the rim of a glass,
to water’s hum against green skin,
and it answers with roots—
soft threads
sewing broken things
back into becoming.
What was once an end
becomes origin.
Scars do not scream.
They bloom.
Felt, Paint & Reflection 