For a long time, I lived in the middle, suspended between who I am and who I am destined to become. I felt the seeds of greatness and art stirring beneath the surface, yet they remained a distant someday.
As I examine this work, a heartbreaking irony emerges. While I hid my face, waiting for a sign that my season had begun, the bloom was already happening through me. The butterflies landed; the petals opened.
I was so focused on searching for a destination to flourish that I missed the garden I was growing all along.
