I lay my body down to rest in the soil. It is moist against my skin, dark like me. I rest and I think.

I can feel my body loosen; I peer down my chest as I begin to unravel. My wounds open and I hiss from the pain. A heart can’t beat when it’s broken. Every beat feels like the swell of a flame. It chars my flesh as it burns through my body. I allow the pain to navigate itself from my head to my toes, sinking into the soil below.

My chest tightens as I feel myself become consumed by water. My breath falls from my lips in ragged labor, harsh like waves in a storm. I allow the water to seep through my pores. I sweat and I cry until the soil around me thickens into mud.

I burn and I sweat and I cry in a never-ending loop.

Is this how I die? It can’t be.

Just before I close my eyes, I catch a flower blooming inside of my wound. I feel the roots make their home beneath my skin. Where the wounds brought pain, the flowers bring relief. Peace. The teary-eyed soil clings to me, feeding the flower. They begin to bloom all over, filling my lacerations with petals of every color.

A heart can beat when it heals again. My breath passes my lips with ease. I grow with the flowers until I am one with them. A garden where I once laid broken. An environment of love where it once held pain.

Although the roots hold me in place, it is here that I finally feel free.