Welcome Home, Blossom
by Belle-boo
I remember you — small, curious,
sitting at the edge of a sunlit room,
watching the world move faster than your reach.
You held your questions quietly,
tucked them against your chest,
wondering if anyone would ever hear them.
The air smelled of crayons and rain,
and I wanted to scoop you up,
to tell you it was safe to feel it all.
Little one, you laughed without measure,
ran barefoot through the green hush of grass,
curled beside the cat who always knew your heart.
You trusted without words,
loved without hesitation —
and even when the world grew heavy,
your spirit flickered still —
soft, resilient, waiting
for a hand to find it gently.
Oct 29, 2025
Oct 29, 2025 at 11:25 PM UTC
Welcome Home, Blossom
by Belle-boo
I remember you — small, curious,
sitting at the edge of a sunlit room,
watching the world move faster than your reach.
You held your questions quietly,
tucked them against your chest,
wondering if anyone would ever hear them.
The air smelled of crayons and rain,
and I wanted to scoop you up,
to tell you it was safe to feel it all.
Little one, you laughed without measure,
ran barefoot through the green hush of grass,
curled beside the cat who always knew your heart.
You trusted without words,
loved without hesitation —
and even when the world grew heavy,
your spirit flickered still —
soft, resilient, waiting
for a hand to find it gently.
Hi there,
This piece was inspired by some recent conversations and explorations with a friend who has carried a lot of childhood trauma. So many of us carry a little wounded child inside, and I wanted to write something that says: it’s okay, you are seen, you are not alone. Childhood can be heavy in ways that are often invisible, but our hearts — even then — were soft, resilient, and waiting to be held. This is my little letter to that child, and maybe it can be a small one to yours too.
