And it's like a seed bursting disastrously open in the hopes that something comes out of it. Maybe it can be the tree it's been told it is on the inside--as comically far-fetched as it feels to dream of tall, sky-gracing branches while buried underground. It is dirty and messy and dark. It will take hard work and miracles. It is everything inside you waiting for the rain. It is everything inside you reaching for the sun. But it is possible, friend. It is possible.