The Garden’s Voices: Bloom Where Shadows Hold Me

I speak to you, small sun in my dark orbit yellow flame folded into silence, you who bloom where no light was promised. I sit here, legs crossed in the hollow of my skull, walls of black steel bending inward like ribs, and still you glow. Not loud. Not begging. Just… there. A quiet defiance. You are the part of me I never learned to name— the soft ache that refuses to scar, the memory that arrives without knocking, carrying warmth I thought I’d buried. I breathe you in, petal by petal, and the air turns honeyed. No gods needed. No answers. Just this: you, floating, Let the shadows curl around us like lovers. We are enough.