I was never unloved, only unheard in rooms where my roots pressed against indifferent walls. Still I bloomed, lifting my heart toward unfamiliar skies, pouring water into deserts, pouring oceans into hollowed hands. But some people return only teaspoons, not out of malice, but because they never learned how to hold anything deeper. Yet inside me a quiet fire persists, a hunger for balance, for a soul that doesn’t just drink but flows back. Until then, I keep my tides for those who are willing to swim.