There blooms a tiny flower in my heart. A rare kind that is only in full growth when my joy is complete and unrestricted. I water it daily and carry it with utmost delicacy within. On some days, it fades into dullness still. When I try to withhold it, I only see it growing invisible. But much like invisible ink, gaining contact with a special kind of light, it comes into being once more. Always flickering, disappearing yet emerging again, over and over like an endless stream of river. Being a lot like its flow, it soars and tumbles at its own pace too. At its own will. There blooms a tiny flower in my heart. A flower of big dreams and conviction, of willingness and sincerity. It keeps growing with the hope that one day, I’ll not call it tiny anymore. And with time, I am slowly beginning to outlook its appearance and realising the mismatch of my words with its experience and true being. There blooms a flower in my heart. A flower is all that it is. But becoming more. Helping me become.