Previous Chapter:
--------------------------------------------------
The Quiet Rebellion
It didn’t come like lightning.
There was no epiphany. No breakdown. No dramatic turning point.
Just a moment -
So small, I could have missed it.
So random, it almost didn’t feel meant for me.
I was sitting on a park bench. Not for the air, not for peace - just to escape the weight of my room. I didn’t even mean to sit. My legs just stopped walking, and I gave in.
A few feet away, two old men were talking. Loud enough for their voices to carry, but not loud enough to feel like they wanted to be overheard.
One of them said,
“You know what saved me? I stopped waiting for the storm to pass. I just started planting flowers in the rain.”
The other chuckled softly, and they went on talking - about biscuits, and their grandkids, and whatever else life had left them.
But that one sentence stayed with me.
“I started planting flowers in the rain.”
It repeated in my head like a melody I didn’t know I remembered.
It wasn’t advice. It wasn’t meant for me.
But my soul clung to it like it had been starving for something - anything -to hold onto.
I walked back home slowly.
Didn’t feel any different. Didn’t smile.
But something had shifted- like a small window cracked open in a suffocating room.
That night, I didn’t do anything big.
No journals. No affirmations.
I just made myself some coffee.
Not because I wanted it.
But because I chose it.
And for the first time in a long while, I realized I had made a decision.
A small, shaky one.
But mine.
The next morning, I opened the curtains.
The light hurt my eyes. But I didn’t close them again.
That was the beginning.
Healing didn’t arrive wrapped in warmth.
It came with resistance. With grief. With tremors.
But also - with choice.
A quiet rebellion against the part of me that had accepted the dark as permanent.
So I held onto that stranger’s words.
Plant flowers in the rain.
Not because the rain had stopped.
But because maybe…
It never would.
And maybe that was okay.
Ashes and After : 5 The Drop
Previous Chapter: https://www.chatzozo.com/forum/threads/ashes-and-after-4-the-cliff%E2%80%99s-edge.61323/ _____________________________ The Drop It didn’t happen in a burst. There was no breakdown, no flood of tears, no final scream. Just stillness. Like something inside me had stopped...
www.chatzozo.com
--------------------------------------------------
The Quiet Rebellion
It didn’t come like lightning.
There was no epiphany. No breakdown. No dramatic turning point.
Just a moment -
So small, I could have missed it.
So random, it almost didn’t feel meant for me.
I was sitting on a park bench. Not for the air, not for peace - just to escape the weight of my room. I didn’t even mean to sit. My legs just stopped walking, and I gave in.
A few feet away, two old men were talking. Loud enough for their voices to carry, but not loud enough to feel like they wanted to be overheard.
One of them said,
“You know what saved me? I stopped waiting for the storm to pass. I just started planting flowers in the rain.”
The other chuckled softly, and they went on talking - about biscuits, and their grandkids, and whatever else life had left them.
But that one sentence stayed with me.
“I started planting flowers in the rain.”
It repeated in my head like a melody I didn’t know I remembered.
It wasn’t advice. It wasn’t meant for me.
But my soul clung to it like it had been starving for something - anything -to hold onto.
I walked back home slowly.
Didn’t feel any different. Didn’t smile.
But something had shifted- like a small window cracked open in a suffocating room.
That night, I didn’t do anything big.
No journals. No affirmations.
I just made myself some coffee.
Not because I wanted it.
But because I chose it.
And for the first time in a long while, I realized I had made a decision.
A small, shaky one.
But mine.
The next morning, I opened the curtains.
The light hurt my eyes. But I didn’t close them again.
That was the beginning.
Healing didn’t arrive wrapped in warmth.
It came with resistance. With grief. With tremors.
But also - with choice.
A quiet rebellion against the part of me that had accepted the dark as permanent.
So I held onto that stranger’s words.
Plant flowers in the rain.
Not because the rain had stopped.
But because maybe…
It never would.
And maybe that was okay.
