Roots are such strange things. They’re usually hidden, underground, but with very few exceptions a plant cannot survive without roots. Some roots are short and fat, others and long and skinny and will snake amazing distances underground. With some plants, even if the visible part of the plant is destroyed, it can grow back if its roots are intact.
If I were a plant, all of my above-ground structure would be dead or wilted. The earth has shifted around me, and everything has been disrupted. Some days I feel like my life is just so unrecognizable, I just want to tear up the roots of my life and see what happens. But then – I remember that what is left of our love is in my roots – I seek to live with love as a foundation; I need to hold on to that, and nurture that.
I’m not sure what I’m going to look like as I regrow and continue evolving. Growing again after such devastation is hard work. My roots will help me – but I’m not the same person. It is as if my roots were split and spliced back together – love and sorrow are now interwoven and feed into my soul.
I love her so, so much – and the thought of growing without her hurts. But I do feel that spark of germination, that life, which originates in our roots. I’m still here – I have survived this so far, and as I move past the initial shock and the initial intense grief, my roots of love will help guide what comes next.
Note: this was written based on a writing prompt provided to me through a paid course I am taking. I am not including the prompt, because the daily prompts are a critical component of that course.