I was a seed.

cut from my mothers bulging stomach at the end of July, I was always growing. my feet planted themselves deep into the soil but my heart stayed buried within hers. she took me to the lake and I filled my lungs with the sensation of floating. eyes open wide, I'd sink below the surface wanting to see it all. In the yard I'd climb as high as I could, bare feet gripping the next branch, then the next, stretching to get to the top. I was always growing. we read books that filled my mind with new seeds, ones that rooted down deep and bloomed slowly. you held my hand, taught my heart it was okay to feel things so strongly. our voices connected, often without a sound. my words became images and I discovered a new way of expression. quietly we grow, together.

I am a seed.

I am always growing.