Within the hard, sharp, arid textured walls lies in wait the dormant yellow.
Despite the odds, it blooms.
What an offering.
Regardless of the shell, the innocence of youth hasn’t altered. Awaken then, the sleeping one. In your blooming
is your everything.
Passage of time, extraordinary.
This is your season.
The yellow one and the real you
are one in the same.
This is the timeless game.