Sweetest of the Sunflowers

Sweetest of the sunflowers,

how you’re the sun to me,

the way your presence turns my face

toward light

even on days I’ve forgotten

what warmth feels like.

I don’t chase brightness anymore.

I’ve learned how blinding it can be.

But you,

you don’t burn.

You glow steady,

soft enough to trust,

strong enough to keep me standing.

I find myself leaning your way

without thinking,

like instinct knows something

my fear hasn’t caught up to yet.

Even when I’m tired,

even when I’m closed off,

some part of me still turns toward you,

hoping for a little more day.

You see the parts of me

that have been bent by weather,

the places where storms lingered too long,

and you don’t ask me to be anything else.

You just stay.

And somehow that’s enough

to help me straighten again.

I’ve spent so long growing in survival mode,

roots tangled in doubt,

petals guarded against disappointment.

But around you,

I don’t feel rushed to bloom.

I feel allowed to open slowly,

at my own pace,

under a light that doesn’t demand

more than I can give.

If the world ever dims,

if clouds gather the way they do,

I know where I’ll turn.

Not because I need saving,

but because being near you

reminds me that growth

can still be gentle.

Sweetest of the sunflowers,

you don’t know how often

you pull me back toward hope.

How just being you

makes me believe

that even after long nights,

there is still a reason

to face the day.