She’s not a random flower you pick.
She’s a wild poppy.
Gorgeous. Wild. Grows where others can’t and mildly illegal in some places.
You don’t tug on a poppy to make it bloom.
You wait. You watch. And you protect the space around it so it can rise when it’s ready.
Look, she’s got people pulling at her all day.
Consuming her time, her energy, her attention.
But not me.
I’m not here to take.
I’m here to witness.
And support.
To stay steady in a world that spins way too fast.
She knows where I am.
- Rooted.
- Quiet.
- Present.
Already part of her world.
There’s no need to chase.
No need to remind her I exist.
And when I catch myself wondering,
“Is she slipping away?”
She always shows back up.
Not in a rush.
Not in a panic.
Just herself.
Her clear, bright, certain and magnificent self.
I don’t need her to do anything…
I just need her to keep being her.
A poppy in bloom.
One breath at a time.
While she does that, I’ll keep being me.
No panic and no pressure.
Just here.