A heap of waste may reek at first,
but even rot makes room for roots.
What begins in decay
can still rise in bloom.
There’s still hope—
quiet, maybe,
but steady like a seed beneath the soil.

And if the ship goes under—
don’t wait for rescue.
Swim.
Even if the sea is endless,
even if hope is a whisper.
Better to reach with burning lungs
than to sink with “what if” in your chest.