If you know anything about me you know my heart is a wildflower.
They are imperfect, yet they still bloom fiercely. They grow themselves deep in the valleys, stretched up the worn ridges, and up to the mountain's peak. Needing no praise, desiring nothing but their moments in the breeze. I ache in their presence because they simply are what they were created to be - wild, stubborn, present. They do not pray to be like another, nor long to be somewhere better. They root themselves amongst places where no eye may see, set to dance their whole life long with no praise or appreciation. Yet they still bloom.
I walked up a mountain trail and picked a wildflower bouquet. I pulled to the side of the road to sit in their fields. I painted their song across my soul. You see, imperfect as I am, I will still bloom - wild, stubborn, present.