We grow not by the ticking hand,
But by the weight of hearts unmanned.
Each loss, a root beneath our feet,
Each storm, the shaping of our heat.
Maturity bears no time-bound chain,
But sprouts through joy and tempered pain.
A silent bloom where trials ignite,
The soul grows wiser in their light.
Sep 13, 2025
Sep 13, 2025 at 12:31 AM UTC
We grow not by the ticking hand,
But by the weight of hearts unmanned.
Each loss, a root beneath our feet,
Each storm, the shaping of our heat.
Maturity bears no time-bound chain,
But sprouts through joy and tempered pain.
A silent bloom where trials ignite,
The soul grows wiser in their light.
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