A Pretty Story

This isn’t a pretty story, even if all you see are the fragrant blooms in the revealed chapter.

What you don’t see, what happens in the quiet when not another soul is around, is bitter and painful.

You don’t see the blood dripping from my hands as I dig against gravel and aged earth to uncover what’s still fertile beneath. You aren’t there when the thorns tear into flesh and the rocks bruise my dirty knees while I toil away, rinsed only occasionally by tears and sweat.

You don’t know how many times I fall and force myself to get back up again; or how some days can feel like a storm at sea, constantly pushing and pulling while I learn second by second how to breathe water and speak with the wind if only to stay alive.

No, what you see are the bright green sprouts that forced their way through that madness. You smell the fragrance of roses and you think, what a lovely story.

But it’s not a pretty story. It’s a real story. Just like yours, just like all of ours. It’s beautiful and terrible and loving and terrifying. It’s a story of hope and resilience, but before that must always be some sort of defeat and yearning.

If you find this pretty, then it is only because it’s real.

©️ Cristen Writes