They thought

the breaking of a branch

meant the death of the tree.

No one looked beneath the soil

where roots,

scarred and silent,

were learning

how to become a forest.

There is a girl

whose pockets are full of unfinished dreams.

She carries bottles

that do not yet sit on shining shelves,

a notebook full of formulas,

a heart stitched together

with prayers,

and eyes

that have forgotten

what it feels like

to stop believing.

She smiles,

and the world thinks

she has never met sorrow.

But sorrow

knows her first name.

It has knocked on her door

without invitation.

It has sat beside her

while she counted losses

that no one else could see.

Promises dissolved

like perfume left uncapped.

Hands she trusted

became strangers.

Plans folded themselves

into paper boats

and drifted away

before they ever reached the sea.

Tonight,

she cries.

Not because she is weak.

But because

even mountains

allow rain

to fall upon them.

Every tear

is proof

that she loved honestly.

Every ache

is evidence

that she dared

to build something beautiful.

The world may never know

how many times

she whispered,

"I'll be okay,"

while quietly wondering

if tomorrow

would recognize her.

Yet...

There is something

pain does not understand.

Pain believes

it is permanent.

Hope knows

it is passing through.

So while heartbreak

writes with ink,

hope

writes with light.

And light

always lasts longer.

One morning,

this same girl

will wake before sunrise.

Not because life

suddenly became easy,

but because

purpose

has an alarm clock

that grief

cannot silence.

She will gather

the scattered pages

of yesterday,

not to reread them,

but to bind them

into the first chapter

of a story

called

"Look What God Did."

Her hands,

which once trembled

while signing endings,

will one day

steady themselves

while signing beginnings.

She will place

small bottles

into waiting hands.

Someone will spray

a fragrance

she created,

close their eyes,

and unknowingly inhale

every sleepless night,

every rejected plan,

every silent prayer,

every lesson,

every tear...

transformed.

That is the strange miracle

of creation.

The artist's pain

becomes

someone else's joy.

The perfumer's heartbreak

becomes

someone else's confidence.

The gardener's waiting

becomes

someone else's shade.

She does not know it yet,

but Heaven

has never measured

her life

by what left.

Only

by what remained.

And what remained...

was courage.

Courage

that whispered

when fear screamed.

Faith

that stood

when certainty collapsed.

Love

that refused

to become bitterness.

Dreams

that refused

to become memories.

So if you ever meet

this girl,

do not ask her

why she cries.

Ask her

why she keeps planting gardens

after surviving storms.

Ask her

why she still believes

after disappointment.

Ask her

why she still smiles

when yesterday

gave her reasons not to.

She may not answer.

She may simply hand you

a bottle of perfume,

smile gently,

and walk away,

leaving behind

a fragrance

that says,

"I survived."

Not because

I never broke.

But because

God kept gathering

every broken piece

until I became

something

even more beautiful

than the person

I thought I was supposed to be.

And somewhere

beyond this night,

beyond these tears,

beyond every goodbye

that felt like forever,

a new morning

is already learning

your name.

It is carrying

the scent

of answered prayers.

Walk toward it.

Slowly if you must.

Crying if you need to.

But walk.

Because the girl

who smells like tomorrow

has not reached

her finest season

yet.

                                WILDCARD

<<<PEACE OUT>>>