I thought my life was infertile.
The weeds-thick as blood.
Blood they sucked from my roots.
Towering over me,
drowning me in pressure.
Shielding me
from any hope
of sunshine.
It had been so long.
“Is sunshine even real?
What color is it?
Does it smell good?”
Back then, I couldn’t say.
Too weak to find out.
Too withered to care.
One day I felt a tickle at my roots.
Unable to see beneath the dirt,
I dug.
In doing so,
I had to expose some wounds
that I had previously
worked so hard to hide.
Glimmering as if fresh,
and much deeper than I remembered.
I questioned whether I should continue.
After digging deep down
past all the dirt and debris,
I realized the tickling
was from a tangling of roots
that weren’t just mine.
I looked up
for the first time in a while
and there you were.
That’s when I remembered
what the sweet caress of sunshine
felt like.
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