..die a little , bloom again..

The parched alley to where I was trudging determines the temperature of the day. Cars were randomly parked it didn't seem they were on a parking lot. I was hoping to see some other shades of happiness, but none was there. All the flowers in the garden already withered, and no remnant can clearly show to me a hint of possibility that somehow, somewhere in that place, hope sprang once upon an arid summer. Dismayed for a glimpse of hope, I opted to sat where I can still see the greater picture of the vicinity. I indulged to the moment when privacy befriended solace, and solitude brings forth a remarkable opportunity to glance back to how it is when you hit a point when it feels that things are starting to die out, and soon "withered" on its time. Seasons are made for a change, indeed.

In between those times of solitude, I tend to retract to my own cocoon. For staying in that place is a safe haven, that being quiet is more comforting than having anything to say, and learning to listen to that inner voice teaches me to stay guarded along the process of recuperating, regenerating, rebuilding. In that way, I am more convinced that when the time is right to get out of that shell, I am more ready to love again, prepared to be a comfort for others without losing something of myself  but gaining more of  what I might lost, and finally, to be able to listen intently when it's time for others to have their own share of being "withered".

For the moment, I can't see that shade and I am thankful. Because I have all the time to merit the things I am capable to do when I'm ready to bloom. I always believe that apart from the changes that are happening outside my world, God is transforming me beautifully, magnificently and miraculously within. I just need to die a little before I can bloom again.